The Lore of Adept Cassiopeia of the Mount

Trees of orange blossom, bright as silk, as knightly banners shining on the hill, as my own little slime-helper. The milk of unicorns. I sometimes taste it still as I practice my magic on the Mount and think back to old times. I shake my hair, and give thanks to my ancestors—the fount of hidden secrets. Still I hear them there with bowl and pestle, working as I sleep and dream my childhood dreams. I am the flag of future—memory so vast and deep that when you try to keep it in a bag and carry on, defying chant and rhyme it wriggles free, stands proud of place and time.

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