The feast was a lie.

The hall smelled of rot and spices.

They ate.

They drank.

The meat was gray.

The wine was thick.

It coated the tongue.

It stuck to the roof of the mouth.

No one spoke.

They chewed.

They swallowed.

They looked at the floor.

The floor was wet.

It was muddy.

It was old.

The walls were stone.

They were cold.

They were damp.

The torches flickered.

The shadows danced.

They were alive.

They were hungry.

In the center of the room sat a table.

It was long.

It was oak.

It was dark.

On the table lay a bowl.

It was clay.

It was rough.

It was chipped.

Inside the bowl was a paste.

It was red.

It was thick.

It was warm.

It steamed.

The steam rose.

It curled.

It vanished.

The men looked at the bowl.

They did not touch it.

They waited.

The woman watched them.

Her name was Elara.

She sat at the end.

Her hands were still.

Her eyes were low.

She wore a dress.

It was blue.

It was stained.

It was torn.

She had a sword.

It was at her hip.

It was heavy.

It was dull.

She did not draw it.

She held the bowl.

Her fingers were cold.

They were numb.

She felt the heat.

It burned.

It seared.

It lived.

The paste was food.

It was medicine.

It was life.

It was death.

She knew what it was.

They did not.

They thought it was dinner.

They thought it was a gift.

They thought it was mercy.

It was none of these things.

It was a debt.

It was a curse.

It was a chain.

The man across from her spoke.

His name was Kael.

He was tall.

He was strong.

He was young.

His face was clean.

His hair was black.

It was wet.

It stuck to his forehead.

He looked at the bowl.

He looked at Elara.

He asked a question.

His voice was soft.

It was dry.

It was tired.

"What is it?"

Elara did not answer.

She looked at the floor.

The mud moved.

It shifted.

It spread.

She felt a pain.

It was in her chest.

It was in her throat.

It was in her hands.

It was in her mind.

It was a wound.

It was a hole.

It was a void.

It was a star.

She opened her mouth.

Her jaw hurt.

Her teeth ached.

She said nothing.

Kael leaned forward.

His elbows hit the table.

The wood creaked.

The bowl shivered.

The paste wobbled.

It almost spilled.

It did not.

It stayed.

It waited.

Kael looked at his hands.

They were red.

They were slick.

They were sticky.

He wiped them on his tunic.

The stain spread.

It darkened.

It deepened.

He looked at Elara.

His eyes were wide.

They were wet.

They were bright.

They were afraid.

He wanted to know.

He needed to know.

He had to know.

Elara looked at him.

She saw his fear.

She saw his need.

She saw his love.

It was there.

It was raw.

It was bright.

It was blind.

It was a fire.

It was a brand.

It was a mark.

She knew the truth.

The truth was simple.

The truth was hard.

The truth was cold.

The paste was their blood.

It was their breath.

It was their soul.

It was their time.

They had given it.

They had paid it.

They had lost it.

Now it returned.

It was a cycle.

It was a loop.

It was a wheel.

It turned.

It never stopped.

It never broke.

It never ended.

Kael reached for the bowl.

His hand shook.

His fingers trembled.

He touched the clay.

It was warm.

It was soft.

It was alive.

He pulled his hand back.

He gasped.

He looked at Elara.

He asked again.

"What is it?"

Elara stood up.

Her legs were weak.

They were stiff.

They were old.

She held the bowl.

She lifted it.

She walked to the fire.

The flames roared.

The sparks flew.

They danced.

They died.

She held the bowl over the fire.

The heat rose.

It hit her face.

It hit her hands.

It hit her heart.

She felt the pain.

It was sharp.

It was bright.

It was clean.

It was clear.

She poured the paste into the fire.

It hissed.

It sizzled.

It bubbled.

It smoked.

The smoke was black.

It was thick.

It was sweet.

It filled the room.

It filled their lungs.

It filled their minds.

It filled their souls.

They coughed.

They choked.

They cried.

They screamed.

The sound was high.

It was thin.

It was sharp.

It was raw.

It was real.

Elara watched them.

She felt nothing.

She felt everything.

She felt the loss.

She felt the gain.

She felt the end.

She felt the start.

The fire consumed the paste.

It ate the color.

It ate the life.

It ate the death.

It ate the time.

It ate the soul.

It ate the self.

The bowl was empty.

It was clean.

It was bare.

It was cold.

Elara held it.

She held it tight.

She held it close.

She held it safe.

Kael looked at her.

His face was pale.

His eyes were dark.

His mouth was open.

He did not speak.

He did not move.

He did not breathe.

He was gone.

He was here.

He was lost.

He was found.

He was dead.

He was alive.

Elara looked at the fire.

The flames were low.

They were red.

They were soft.

They were still.

They were quiet.

They were done.

The room was silent.

The air was still.

The dust settled.

The shadows stayed.

The men sat.

They were empty.

They were hollow.

They were full.

They were light.

They were heavy.

They were free.

They were bound.

They were alone.

They were together.

They were one.

They were many.

Elara put the bowl on the table.

It made a sound.

It was small.

It was soft.

It was final.

It was complete.

She sat down.

Her hands were still.

Her eyes were low.

She looked at the floor.

The mud was dry.

It was hard.

It was cracked.

It was old.

It was new.

It was gone.

It was here.

She felt the pain.

It was distant.

It was far.

It was small.

It was mine.

It was yours.

It was ours.

It was theirs.

It was all.

It was none.

The fire died.

The dark came.

The night fell.

The stars showed.

They were bright.

They were cold.

They were far.

They were near.

They were watching.

They were waiting.

They were judging.

They were loving.

Elara closed her eyes.

She felt the warmth.

It was in her hands.

It was in her chest.

It was in her soul.

It was in the air.

It was in the dark.

It was in the silence.

It was in the space.

It was in the time.

It was in the end.

It was in the start.

She opened her eyes.

The room was dark.

The men were gone.

The table was empty.

The bowl was gone.

The fire was gone.

The pain was gone.

The love was gone.

The truth was gone.

The lie was gone.

The feast was over.

The meal was done.

The debt was paid.

The curse was broken.

The cycle was ended.

The wheel was stopped.

The star was gone.

The hole was filled.

The wound was closed.

The blood was dry.

The breath was still.

The soul was free.

The time was lost.

The self was gone.

The other was here.

The one was many.

The many was one.

The end was start.

The start was end.

The life was death.

The death was life.

The light was dark.

The dark was light.

The sound was silence.

The silence was sound.

The word was deed.

The deed was word.

The truth was lie.

The lie was truth.

The love was hate.

The hate was love.

The fear was courage.

The courage was fear.

The pain was joy.

The joy was pain.

The loss was gain.

The gain was loss.

The self was other.

The other was self.

The all was none.

The none was all.

Elara stood up.

She walked to the door.

The door was wood.

It was old.

It was broken.

It was open.

The night was there.

The air was cold.

The air was fresh.

The air was clean.

The air was free.

She stepped out.

The ground was hard.

The ground was cold.

The ground was dark.

The ground was wide.

The ground was endless.

She walked.

Her feet were bare.

Her feet were cold.

Her feet were strong.

Her feet were sure.

She walked on.

The stars were above.

The moon was there.

The moon was full.

The moon was bright.

The moon was white.

The moon was cold.

The moon was far.

The moon was near.

The moon was watching.

The moon was waiting.

The moon was judging.

The moon was loving.

Elara looked up.

She saw the moon.

She saw the stars.

She saw the dark.

She saw the light.

She saw the end.

She saw the start.

She saw the truth.

She saw the lie.

She saw the love.

She saw the hate.

She saw the fear.

She saw the courage.

She saw the pain.

She saw the joy.

She saw the loss.

She saw the gain.

She saw the self.

She saw the other.

She saw the all.

She saw the none.

She smiled.

It was small.

It was soft.

It was sad.

It was happy.

It was real.

It was true.

It was done.

It was over.

It was complete.

It was final.

It was hers.

It was theirs.

It was ours.

It was all.

It was none.

The wind blew.

The wind was cold.

The wind was soft.

The wind was loud.

The wind was silent.

The wind was there.

The wind was gone.

The wind was here.

The wind was now.

The wind was then.

The wind was always.

The wind was never.

Elara walked on.

The dark swallowed her.

The light left her.

The sound left her.

The silence took her.

The time took her.

The space took her.

The earth took her.

The sky took her.

The stars took her.

The moon took her.

The dark took her.

The light took her.

The end took her.

The start took her.

The truth took her.

The lie took her.

The love took her.

The hate took her.

The fear took her.

The courage took her.

The pain took her.

The joy took her.

The loss took her.

The gain took her.

The self took her.

The other took her.

The all took her.

The none took her.

She was gone.

She was here.

She was lost.

She was found.

She was dead.

She was alive.

She was one.

She was many.

She was end.

She was start.

She was life.

She was death.

She was light.

She was dark.

She was sound.

She was silence.

She was word.

She was deed.

She was truth.

She was lie.

She was love.

She was hate.

She was fear.

She was courage.

She was pain.

She was joy.

She was loss.

She was gain.

She was self.

She was other.

She was all.

She was none.

The story ended.

The story began.

The story was.

The story was not.

The story is.

The story is not.

The story was.

The story is.

The story is.

The story is.

The story is.