Out of Strangemoor
- Reads 502
- Votes 82
- Parts 13
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If you wake in a world almost your own, you've arrived in the spaces which exist parallel to it. The months are not markers of time, but alive and watching. Each has its own rules, its principles, its hungers. Your memories are a currency here. Obey what you cannot understand, and you may endure. Falter, and the months will write your ending for you . . . January watches, silent and wide February hums, close behind March stretches its fingers into unseen corners April folds itself around the edges of thought May shivers, bright and fleeting June leans, heavy with heat July burns and blinks, restless August sighs, carrying whispers of what was lost September twists, half-hidden in shadow October tilts, unsure November hums with quiet storms December waits for you . . .
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