Lord of Breath. It has a nice ring to it. Your friend had told you it was special, a master class.

You don’t feel like a master of anything now.

Your land had looked magical at first. Fat drops of dew hung like crystal balls over everything. You had thought then, that if you leaned in, if you just looked closer, then everything would become clear. You thought your path would reveal itself in the swirling milky droplets, and then things would be easy for you.

But you are not a Seer.

And your land turned against you.
You’d lean in and the platform you had been leaning against would give out under the press of your hips. You would turn down a foggy hallway to find a mirror and not an exit at the end.

You sigh, pulling brambles out of your hair from where you fell down a trapdoor.

Maybe someday your path will resolve itself, and you’ll find yourself firmly in control of you aspect, but not now.

Now you’d just like to know where your damn shoe went.