The skies crackled in a brilliant red, a

The skies crackled in a brilliant red, a masterpiece in the eyes of a troubled mind. Who was this child, staring blankly at the oncoming storm, just standing there, almost admiring

the ferocity of the wind and the way it tore at the trees, making them bend so low to the ground. It reminded me of that time I did the limbo while I was on vacation in St

Nick's house in the arctic. It's hard to play limbo there because the limbo height is done by Elf standards and man that's really low.

Although, there was that one Elf, Breia. She was taller than anybody.

Breia probably wasn't even an Elf. None of the other elves knew who she was, not even Santa knew. But she did have sticky-out ears, so she must be. I thought this to myself when

sharp and bedazzled with sapphires. She stood up seductively from her toy-making station and shuffled over to mine, her body bobbing up and down due to her one club foot.

"Stop!" I begged her, "You in that dress are distracting me from making toys! Don't you know I can't resist an elf with a club foot?" But still she kept shimmying toward me, her

Elfish face needing vno makeup whatsoever. Her club foot didn't stop her from doing wonderful art projects herself. She had an exhibition at the Elven Hall coast month and I saw a

Avenhoőme leaf laden Golden Bough that promised to blow the lid on Elven Magick. That club foot was her birthright and the last hope of finding the Western Shores of The Evening.