Three of Swords

The grandest hour of spring arrived with vigor. A vast sea shimmered on the horizon. Birds flew in the clear sky above the orchards. Flowers bloomed in the tall waving grass. Sunshine bathed the meadow as a breeze swept the hill. A procession hiked upon this hill. Tiny bells adorning their ankles rang out with each steady step. Festive wreaths and ribbons crowned their heads. Bright banners wavered in the air. Their solemn expressions faced their destination.
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Wheel of Fortune

Celeste sat on her bed, staring out the window. The oily darkness had already descended. The moon now ruled; a fragment of its true self shone above. Silver light painted the land. A strange beauty, this silver and black world. Only the sound of the gentle waters, the frogs and the hushed breeze dared to fill the chill emptiness of the air. Each ripple on the spring filled pond transmuted from silver to black to silver again. The wind ran its icy tendrils through the ancient grass, whispering of things lurking in the night. The frogs hid within the depths of the dark pond, only their shrill chirping betrayed their presence.

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