I was thirteen the first time I met a spirit at a crossroad. I hadn’t gone there to meet him. I went to meet a friend, though I must not have waited long enough for the spirit’s liking, because later that night, he led me back there. Once there he told me stories, showed me things, and talked to me of magick. Later, when I would speak of him, and the things that happened that night, no one I had been with remembered him, or the things that happened the way I did. From the moment I stepped away from him, to this day, I can’t recall his name. It was very much as if, at some point in the night, I had fallen asleep, and experienced a dream no one else shared, but I had been awake, and I, and everyone present, had been stone cold sober.
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