Chapter 14 · free to read
I lay down at dusk beside a stream I could hear. I opened my eyes on a hillside two li away, facing north, with cold in my teeth and no memory of standing up.
It was a summoning frame, cut in a script that has not been taught in ninety years. It was beautiful work. It was in my handwriting.
It used to move when I moved. Now it arrives a half-breath late, and sometimes it arrives somewhere else entirely.
And then, in the middle of a sentence, in my own mouth, on my own hillside, she simply took the next word.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.