Stories from the Regions: Twilight Illusion


Twilight Illusion
by Deoridhe Quandry

It always hurts when I fall.

Forgiveness is infinite, eternal, reoccurring, but not continuous. Every few centuries a wave of love washes across the landscape, and those open to it rise again – our wings suddenly able to stretch to greater heights again. Despite the stories, they don’t actually change color and we don’t actually change shape; Hell is much the same as Heaven, only lonelier. The Unforgiven is not cruel – souls flock to him not the other way around – but he is ..disinterested. Hardened. And when he realizes you’re one who floats upon the winds of whimsy his response can be cutting and painful. His grief easily distracts him, though, and a silver-tongue member of the chorus can beguile his mind with stories of his long lost love – the one who would welcome him back, but would never apologize.

And so, it always hurts when I rise.

I know what comes – this is an old cycle, one which repeats itself every few centuries as the All Seeing’s attention waxes and wanes. He is warm in his welcome, offering forgiveness readily at the least apology. He sees the molecules of repentance within us, letting them pull us upward into his embrace once more. The tiniest shard or remorse, small enough to fit through the eye of a needle small enough to fit through the eye of a needle is enough. The softest apology is enough. He smiles and everything is washed away in that moment, in that embrace. It never lasts, though; he is All Seeing and it is a Universe with an infinite cacophony of new wonders and new people who need to be forgiven. And one day there is the wrong look, the wrong word, the wrong act and you are falling again.

And so… it always hurts when I fall.



by Saffia Widdershins

Hold out your hands.
For here I stand For here I squat
ethereal, radiant. formless, shapeless.
Light touches my wings, Light touches my wings,
engilds me like the fires inflames me like the fires
of the sun. of the pit.
Oh, hold out your hands!
For one touch of my pure hand For one touch of my stinking hand
will bathe you in the paths of light; will drench you in the flames of hell;
and you will rise, rise And you will fall, fall
in the airy light of moonbeams in the darkness of lava flows
to the white, to the dark,
the glorious light … the eternal flames …
Just hold out your hands.


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