After the flood, after the cataclysm, after the splitting of the veil . . .
In the wake of a violent tragedy, Vivien Williams does not experience grief. She undergoes an awakening—a malignant memory from another life. An autobiography of abomination from which sin flows like water.
Pursued by a detective, Vivien proves to be a cunning opponent: A Dark Player. She knows life is a game. A game of suffering. And the suffering goes on forever.
In the sacred stillness of the present moment, beneath the vast vault of sky, from deep within a wound in the earth, a bird sang out. The sweet, simple trill bringing joy to anyone with ears to hear.
Its song unanswered, the bird took wing.
It flew out of the chasm, seen by no one, observed only by the great, sightless, unblinking eye of the abyss. The bird floated, alone, in the middle of the air, held aloft by the putrid updraft.
If there was a creator who had created the bird, it did not know. Nor did it wonder. It did not know its lilting trill was sweet and simple. It did not know its song brought joy.
It did not know there was an abyss.
It did not know the abyss was filled with the fragile bones of the dead.
