Sacred night of wind and flame.
Chaos is setting to burn within me, from too many quarters to list, and must be given rein in this coming hallowed night. So art must sit idly by and yield way to life, as it should be. Something of a vision quest, something of a brawl, this trip shall be a crossroads. I would like to write it's origin here, but time grows short even now. I can hear the wind picking up, writhing and gathering, gaining focus and power. The gentle demons in their way prepare therein, as I prepare in mine. Soon we shall draw near against each-other, in the dark and in the light, and one or the other must be brought low. I hope I have strength enough to master them, I cannot abide their creeping chill any longer. Whether by victory or defeat, this siege at last shall end.
As it should be. As it ever was.