The Book of Deacon

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  Slowly, hazily, a dream came. It was like the stark, bleak field that had haunted Myranda in nights gone by, but somehow different. She was lost, on her feet and wandering. Somewhere nearby, a faint, almost imperceptible light loomed. Stumbling and shuffling, she moved closer to this weak and quickly fading glow. A deep sense of desperation grew in her heart as the light slipped away from her. In this colorless field it seemed to be the last bastion of light against the overpowering dark. She had to find it, she had to touch it and know light once more before it was gone forever. It was near. So near.