Schwester

In a mountainous place far away there is a lake with a many small islands. I found myself on an island draped with chains on which were fastened a thousand-thousand locks. Every link was fastened with keyless trinkets of every style, size and age. Birds flew from tree to tree, calling loudly and mocking the permanence of the chain with their flitting freedom.

I think perhaps the template for the human mind is such a place. Twisted from what ought to what is and locked away from itself in a thousand-thousand ways. Smiths and thieves, wizards and charlatans try the locks, pounding, picking and cantriping under the avian scorn from dawn to dusk.

When at last a heroine produces the Golden Key and one of the tumblers gives way, the birds fall silent with the opening of the shackle, and solemn swallows witness as a piece of what we were is released from the tangle, forever changing how we see what we are.

It is in that place the true greats (and those that wished to be) did their work. And I suspect that the histories of those who succeed there will be forgiven, no matter how mean or misshapen.