The Embers of Heaven
“The ghost who was Amais-the-dreamer was looking at this mysterious yet disturbingly familiar object as though over someone’s shoulder—it was that young woman from her dream again, holding the red book in almost reverent hands, gazing at pages thickly covered with a graceful brush-and-ink script. It had been a different world, back when these characters were inked onto the paper. A different time. A time of grace and gentleness, and subtle power that never really spoke its name but flowed like ...smoke into every crack and crevice of society, setting brick and mortar and heart and spirit, giving strength. “So long ago,” the young woman who held the book whispered. “So long ago. So fragile. So easy to forget.” “Oh, no,” said the other voice from this dream-world, the little girl, who turned out to be sitting on cushions at the young woman’s feet, a stack of red-covered books much like the journal her companion was holding piled around her. “Nothing is ever really forgotten, you know.MoreLess
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