Inner Demons

Perhaps on a frigid winter night, you hear someone beyond the wall softly singing:

"A mystic's feathered robes, a heart like white clouds; one qin, one sword, one painted scroll. Light snow, a red brazier, wine of yellow sprouts; by night, I read the Ziwei and Dongting scriptures."

The lingering notes curl through the air, as wondrous as heavenly music. You follow the sound through the snow, only to glimpse dim lights in the distance. After walking another quarter hour, you enter a bamboo grove. Before you, the view suddenly opens, and warmth washes over you.

There, a white crane dances gracefully, while a dragon maiden in crimson plays the qin and sings along. Startled, you rub your eyes.

When you look again, you find yourself standing outside your own home, with withered grass and trees lining the street.

The world speaks of immortals, never realizing that perhaps they are right beside you.