Fire Confetti

Come, friends. Sit around my fire, the Warring Woods are not a kind place to be during winter. If you like, I could tell you a story, though I only know one. It is not a sad story, it is not a happy story, it is just a story, and nothing is painted in black and white. It is a story of a man of iron and smoke, of ghost and flesh. It is a story you may never repeat, for their names are cursed. It is called The Oldest Whisper, and you will listen.