Further down the dirt path the trees began to thin out into a single line, evenly spaced. Between each tree Gregory made out a broad field of tomb stones. He whistled between his teeth; he had always pitied those people who lived next to grave yards.
Craning my neck I watched curiously as the cultists continued their chanting. They were kneeling on an inverted pentagram.
What am I, but your fate?
Where did it come from? Why was it red? And more importantly: what did it mean?
In the beginning I looked out upon the vast expanse of the void overhead.
