In the mountains, a few days walk from here, there’s a valley, barely known to the world. It’s cut off by snow and ice for most of the year, and by the rushing meltwaters of its river for much of the rest.
But if you somehow find your way to it, there grows a tree in the clearing there, all crooked and cold and bare. It will listen to your whispers, take them into its heart, and turn, by some dark magic, your lies to truth, or your truth to lies.
Once you’ve said your piece you turn and walk away, back to the world that has changed around you. Only you remember how things were before. Only you remember when your newly borne truth was a lie, when your new lie was true.
Slowly you are driven mad.
While the trees roots grow ever deeper.
1. Written in October 2017__________patreon. Subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real. Thank you.