The Harder The World, The Fiercer The

And In The City On All Sides, The Howling Of The Hounds Rose In An Ear-shattering, Soul-flailing Crescendo. The Lord Of Death Had Arrived, To Walk The Streets In The City Of Blue Fire.

More Than One Philosopher Has Claimed That We Ever Remain Children, Far Beneath The Indurated Layers That Make Up The Armour Of Adulthood. Armour Encumbers, Restricts The Body And Soul Within It. But It Also Protects. Blows Are Blunted. Feelings Lose Their Edge, Leaving Us To Suffer Naught But A Plague Of Bruises, And, After A Time, Bruises Fade.

Curious,” Bauchelain Said. “what Is It You Wish Us To Do For You?” “usurp The King,” Imid Factalo Said. “usurp, As In Depose.” “right.” “depose, As In Remove.” “yes.” “remove, As In Kill.

Kallor Said: "i Walked This Land When The T'lan Imass Were But Children. I Have Commanded Armies A Hundred Thousand Strong. I Have Spread The Fire Of My Wrath Across Entire Continents, And Sat Alone Upon Tall Thrones. Do You Grasp The Meaning Of This?" "yes," Said Caladan Brood, "you Never Learn."

A Story Invites Both Writer And Reader Into A Kind Of Superficial Ease: We Want To Slide Along, Pleasingly Entertained, Lost In The Fictional Dream.