I am the root. I am the stone. I am the silence beneath the floorboards of the mill.

They call me a thief. They call me a monster. They do not know I am only the soil. I do not steal. I absorb. I drink the dark. I drink the fear. I drink the names of the dead and make them grow into something else. Something green. Something alive. Something that cannot be burned.

The village is small. The river is wide. The mist is thick. It clings to the wool of my coat. It clings to my skin. It tastes of iron. It tastes of rot. It tastes of the old world, the one before the law, the one before the book, the one before the priest.

I live in the cellar. I live in the dark. I live in the roots of the elm tree that splits the wall. The wood groans. The bark sheds. The sap runs like blood. I press my hand to the rough, cold surface. I feel the pulse. It is slow. It is deep. It is mine.

They built a wall around me. They built it high. They built it of stone. They built it to keep the wolf out. They built it to keep the beast in. They did not know the beast was already there. They did not know the beast was the ground. They did not know the beast was the air.

I remember the girl. She was called Elara. She had eyes like rain. She had hair like moss. She walked through the garden with a basket of apples. The apples were red. The red was bright. The red was loud. It cut the silence. It cut the mist.

She stopped. She looked at the wall. She looked at the gap. The gap was small. A crack. A vein. A wound. She peered in. Her face was pale. Her face was smooth. Her face was young.

I did not move. I could not move. I was the wall. I was the stone. I was the silence.

She whispered. The word was soft. The word was warm. The word was "come."

I did not come. I was the root. I was the stone. I was the silence.

She left. She walked away. Her feet made no sound. The mist swallowed her. The mist swallowed the apples. The mist swallowed the red.

I waited. I waited for the sun. I waited for the moon. I waited for the rain. I waited for the snow. I waited for the death. I waited for the birth.

The years passed. The years were short. The years were long. The years were a breath. The years were a sigh.

The village changed. The houses grew tall. The windows grew narrow. The doors grew heavy. The people grew quiet. The people grew cold. The people grew afraid.

They spoke of me. They spoke in the tavern. They spoke in the church. They spoke in the school. They said I was a demon. They said I was a curse. They said I was the end.

They did not know I was the beginning. They did not know I was the seed. They did not know I was the life.

A man came. He was old. He was thin. He was blind. He walked with a stick. The stick tapped the stone. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound was rhythmic. The sound was steady. The sound was familiar.

He stopped at the wall. He stopped at the gap. He put his hand to the stone. He closed his eyes. He smiled.

He knew. He knew I was there. He knew I was the root. He knew I was the stone. He knew I was the silence.

He did not speak. He did not need to speak. He put a flower in the crack. The flower was white. The flower was small. The flower was fragile.

The flower bloomed. The flower grew. The flower drank the dark. The flower drank the fear. The flower drank the names of the dead.

The flower became a vine. The vine climbed the wall. The vine wrapped the stone. The vine covered the crack. The vine hid the gap. The vine hid me.

The village saw the vine. The village marveled. The village praised. The village forgot. They forgot the thief. They forgot the monster. They forgot the curse. They remembered the beauty. They remembered the grace. They remembered the gift.

I was happy. I was the vine. I was the flower. I was the life.

But the vine is strong. The vine is hungry. The vine is blind. It does not know where to stop. It does not know what to keep. It does not know what to break.

The vine grew over the window. The vine covered the glass. The vine blocked the light. The vine choked the air. The vine strangled the sound.

The people inside were afraid. The people inside were cold. The people inside were dark.

The vine grew over the door. The vine locked the gate. The vine barred the way. The vine sealed the house.

The people inside screamed. The scream was loud. The scream was sharp. The scream was bright. The scream was red.

The vine did not care. The vine was the wall. The vine was the stone. The vine was the silence.

The man came again. He was older. He was thinner. He was sicker. He walked with a tremor. The stick tapped the stone. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound was faint. The sound was weak. The sound was dying.

He stopped at the wall. He stopped at the vine. He put his hand to the leaf. The leaf was wet. The leaf was cold. The leaf was dead.

He knew. He knew I was there. He knew I was the root. He knew I was the stone. He knew I was the silence.

He wept. The tears fell. The tears hit the leaf. The leaf shuddered. The leaf withered. The leaf turned to dust.

The dust fell. The dust settled. The dust covered the stone. The dust covered the crack. The dust covered the gap. The dust covered me.

The village saw the dust. The village shuddered. The village ran. The village fled. The village left. The houses stood empty. The gardens died. The river slowed. The mist thickened.

I was alone. I was the dust. I was the stone. I was the silence.

I waited. I waited for the sun. I waited for the moon. I waited for the rain. I waited for the snow. I waited for the death. I waited for the birth.

I was wrong. I was not the root. I was not the stone. I was not the silence.

I was the seed. I was the prisoner. I was the thief.

I stole the light. I stole the air. I stole the life. I stole the self. I stole the love. I stole the name.

I was the one who hid. I was the one who hid from the world. I was the one who hid from the self. I was the one who hid in the dark. I was the one who drank the dark. I was the one who made the dark.

The man was my mirror. The man was my ghost. The man was my past. The man was my future. The man was me.

He had been the thief. He had been the monster. He had been the curse. He had been the end.

He had tried to save me. He had tried to save himself. He had failed. He had failed. He had failed.

The vine died. The vine rotted. The vine crumbled. The wall stood bare. The wall stood cold. The wall stood empty.

I looked at the wall. I looked at the gap. I looked at the stone.

I was the stone. I was the gap. I was the wall.

I did not move. I could not move. I was the silence.

But the silence was heavy. The silence was loud. The silence was bright. The silence was red.

I broke. I broke the stone. I broke the wall. I broke the silence.

The dust flew. The dust rose. The dust danced. The dust sang. The dust sang a song. The song was old. The song was new. The song was mine.

The mist lifted. The sun rose. The light came. The light was warm. The light was bright. The light was red.

I stepped out. I stepped into the light. I stepped into the world. I stepped into the life.

I was the root. I was the stone. I was the silence.

But I was also the vine. I was also the flower. I was also the seed.

I was the thief. I was the monster. I was the curse.

I was the life. I was the grace. I was the gift.

I walked away. I walked into the mist. I walked into the dark. I walked into the silence.

I did not look back. I did not need to look back. I knew where I was. I knew who I was. I knew what I had done. I knew what I had become.

I was the pale tale. I was the white lie. I was the green truth. I was the black heart.

I was the end. I was the beginning. I was the middle.

I was the silence.

The silence was loud. The silence was bright. The silence was red.

The silence was mine.