Jun 24, 2021
18 min read
Chapter 7
That night I have another dream. My back is against the boards, the wall of what must be a barn, and I am holding a long piece of metal, some sort of club. The only light comes from chinks and cracks in the wood, flickering yellow beams that crisscross space. The world spins off-kilter, threatening to implode on itself, as high in the darkness comes a voice — the blonde man again, I think, proclaiming in a Shakespearean boom:
