Oh hail Tree of Sight. We birds dare not open our eyes before you. Lest you pluck them from our faces and gaze into unseen realms.
In Subsidiary 13, memory is a lie and footage is a fever dream. The soldier holds position, half-coded into the glitching skyline, gas mask breathing like a metronome of dread....
The Shaman was walking on the rocky hills of the Psychic Valley, when he found the skull of a dead goat on the ground. The skull had an ancient look....
Dark Stares, Darker Emotions, but the Wrong Place and Time
