J. Jason Graff

“She began to feel sacred, scared and the voices came and went and her body became brittle, falling, drying, like cold Annihilation, like blue crystal spectrum light, sinking but white. To Nurture, Mist thought, falling cold white crystals, forming, while dying. Returning, falling sky, dying, and finally, on her cold white body, she felt...Snow.”

“Mythic dreams floating on a desert wind simultaneously beautiful yet pathetically inconsequential.”

“The rains stopped and the clouds were cleaved into shifting forms, slowly disappearing, slowly fading to blue sky, bright blue sky, with the sun, and the boy stood staring until everything turned white, and the owl flew carrying the boy away to join with the moon”

“For now she is small. For now she still thinks in terms of that little town, her concepts stuck, rigid. Eight days, she thinks. Eight days and she will leave. Not a day sooner. Not a day later. She wouldn’t want to risk ruining the possibility of all that her future may hold. All of it, for her, hanging on two rings on top of each other that when connected, she could trace forever.”