The bell rings. You leave.

The air tastes of iron.

You are walking away.

Look at the garden.

Look at the moss.

It grows on the stone.

It grows on the door.

It grows on you.

Do you feel it?

The weight of the green.

The weight of the rot.

The town watches.

They watch you leave.

Their eyes are heavy.

Their eyes are old.

They do not blink.

They do not care.

You care.

You care so much.

It burns.

It eats.

You carry the box.

It is light.

It is heavy.

Inside the box.

A single leaf.

Green.

Vibrant.

Alive.

It pulses.

Like a heart.

Like a wound.

You found it.

In the master’s garden.

The master is gone.

The master is ash.

The master is smoke.

And you.

You are the keeper.

You are the thief.

You are the saint.

You are the fool.

Walk faster.

The road is long.

The road is short.

The sun is high.

The sun is blind.

It sees nothing.

It sees everything.

It sees your face.

Your face is pale.

Your face is red.

Your face is yours.

Who are you?

Ask the wind.

The wind does not answer.

The wind laughs.

The wind hisses.

You remember.

The meeting.

The table.

The wood.

The scar.

You sat there.

You sat alone.

They sat across.

They sat as one.

Edward spoke.

His voice was silk.

His voice was steel.

"Leave," he said.

"Take the leaf."

"Leave."

You nodded.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to spit.

You wanted to break the table.

You did not move.

You held your tongue.

You held your breath.

You held the secret.

The secret is green.

The secret is sharp.

It cuts.

It heals.

It kills.

It saves.

Why did you take it?

Because you loved him.

Did you love him?

Did you love the leaf?

Did you love the power?

Did you love the pain?

You do not know.

You do not care.

You are leaving.

The town shrinks.

The town grows.

It swallows the road.

It swallows the sky.

It swallows you.

Stop.

Listen.

There is a sound.

A whisper.

A growl.

A song.

It comes from behind.

Do not turn.

Do not run.

Stand still.

The air changes.

The air turns.

The air bites.

You feel it.

On your skin.

On your bone.

On your soul.

The leaf.

It wakes.

It stirs.

It stretches.

It reaches.

It grabs.

It pulls.

You feel the pull.

In your chest.

In your throat.

In your mind.

It is hungry.

It is thirsty.

It is angry.

It is you.

It is not you.

It is both.

It is neither.

The voice returns.

Closer now.

Closer still.

It is Edward.

It is not Edward.

It is the town.

It is the law.

It is the order.

"Return," the voice says.

"Return the leaf."

"Return the life."

"Return to the ash."

You shake your head.

No.

No.

No.

You tighten your grip.

The box is hot.

The box is cold.

The box is alive.

The leaf presses out.

It touches your hand.

It burns.

It freezes.

It sings.

You hear the song.

It is a lullaby.

It is a dirge.

It is a warning.

It is a promise.

*You are free.*

*You are lost.*

*You are free.*

*You are dead.*

The betrayal.

It is not in the taking.

It is in the leaving.

It is in the keeping.

It is in the love.

You loved the freedom.

You loved the leaf.

You loved the pain of holding it.

You did not love the cost.

You did not see the cost.

The cost is high.

The cost is total.

The cost is you.

The wind picks up.

The wind howls.

The wind screams.

The leaves on the trees.

They are not leaves.

They are eyes.

They are mouths.

They are teeth.

They watch you.

They judge you.

They eat you.

You keep walking.

You must walk.

You must run.

You cannot stop.

If you stop.

You are gone.

If you stop.

You are ash.

If you stop.

You are nothing.

You are something.

You are the leaf.

You are the root.

You are the vine.

You are the poison.

You are the cure.

The sun sets.

The sun dies.

The night comes.

The night is black.

The night is deep.

The night is full.

Full of stars.

Full of eyes.

Full of lies.

You see a light.

In the distance.

A small light.

A warm light.

A safe light.

You run to it.

You run hard.

Your lungs burn.

Your legs ache.

Your heart breaks.

You arrive.

It is a house.

A small house.

A old house.

A dead house.

The door is open.

The door is black.

The door is wide.

You step in.

The air is still.

The air is thick.

The air is sweet.

Sweet like rot.

Sweet like honey.

Sweet like death.

You see a figure.

In the corner.

In the dark.

It is a woman.

It is a ghost.

It is a memory.

It is Eleanor.

Eleanor Fairchild.

Your mentor.

Your guide.

Your master.

She sits in a chair.

Her hands are still.

Her eyes are closed.

Her face is peace.

Her face is pain.

She is gone.

She has been gone.

For years.

For days.

For moments.

You drop the box.

The box cracks.

The leaf flies out.

It floats.

It hovers.

It glows.

It is bright.

It is beautiful.

It is terrible.

It moves toward Eleanor.

It moves toward you.

It moves toward the door.

It moves away.

It disappears.

The light fades.

The house fades.

The town fades.

The world fades.

You are alone.

You are empty.

You are free.

You are bound.

You are the ashes.

You are the spark.

You are the fire.

You are the smoke.

You are the silence.

You are the scream.

You are the truth.

You are the lie.

You are the cost.

You are the price.

You are the debt.

You are the gain.

You are the loss.

You are the life.

You are the death.

You are the beginning.

You are the end.

You are the middle.

You are the now.

You are the here.

You are the there.

You are the everywhere.

You are the nowhere.

You are the leaf.

You are the ash.

You are the wind.

You are the stone.

You are the water.

You are the earth.

You are the sky.

You are the star.

You are the moon.

You are the sun.

You are the dark.

You are the light.

You are the shadow.

You are the form.

You are the void.

You are the full.

You are the empty.

You are the one.

You are the many.

You are the self.

You are the other.

You are the same.

You are the different.

You are the truth.

You are the lie.

You are the story.

You are the silence.

You are the end.