“you Don't Have Much Faith In People,

If 'why' Was The First And Last Question, Then Because I Was Curious To See What Would Happen Was The First And Last Answer. A Version Of It Had Been Spoken To God Himself In The Garden Of Eden, And It Was Destined To Be The Reason For The End Of Things At The Hands Of Man.

I Dream Dark Dreams. I Dream Of A Figure Moving Through The Forest, Of Children Flying From His Path, Of Young Women Crying At His Coming. I Dream Of Snow And Ice, Of Bare Branches And Moon-cast Shadows. I Dream Of Dancers Floating In The Air, Stepping Lightly Even In Death, And My Own Pain Is But A Faint Echo Of Their Suffering As I Run. My Blood Is Black On The Snow, And The Edges Of The World Are Silvered With Moonlight. I Run Into The Darkness, And He Is Waiting. I Dream In Black And White, And I Dream Of Him. I Dream Of Caleb, Who Does Not Exist, And I Am Afraid.

“you Don't Have Much Faith In People, Do You?” Said David. “i Don't Have Much Faith In Anything,” Roland Replied. “not Even In Myself.”

They Were On The Side Of The Angels, Even If The Angels Weren't Entirely Sure That This Was A Good Thing.

On More Than One Occasion David, In His Urge To Explore The Darker Corners Of The Bookshelves, Had Found Himself Wearing Strands Of Spider Silk In His Face And Hair, Causing The Web's Creator To Scuttle Into A Corner And Crouch Balefully, Lost In Thoughts Of Arachnoid Revenge.