In the wee hours, you see things that the Light won’t allow. There are shadows and sounds, whispers of another world. Spirits dance in the wee hours. Some hostile, some as gentle as doves…but all of them, they dance. Your heart calls to you in hours so late that they’ve become early. Revealing your secrets, long kept. Exposing the forgotten things…forcing you to witness their power. Then, they pull back, ever so gently, letting you know that they will return to that hidden place where they’re kept.
As dawn threatens the darkness, you find yourself anxious. Eyes probing the darkness, awaiting the slightest hint of blue, because your hope lives there, in the Light. The new day offers redemption from the rituals of the Night. Offerings are tucked away, and the challis, long since drunk dry, is carefully posed in its place of honor. Always within view, it reminds you of the yield, fed you by the willing. Just as you begin to realize the glory of what was, morning sun washes away the ceremony of it all and leaves you, a child of Darkness, to your redemption.