Not truth, but a vision on the fey lands in the mists of the Isen where the strands of fate are unraveled and re-woven like silk on the distaffs of elf-witches in the Dwimordene. Under the pale moon that looms white over the dreams of Men, a man—silver-voiced and fair of face—can wear the feathered cloak of a swan-maiden.

A traditional sketch drawn by me (Alweard) and further touched up digitally.