You Are Wolf — Keld



 
Kerry Andrews pens the memoir of an eerie Elizabethan waterworld
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Keld was a land defined not by a jagged curve of mountains thrust high into the clouds, nor by an ornate knot of signatures inked onto parchment.

Keld was defined by grief.

Doomed lovers lamented their tragic fates on forgotten riverbanks. Fair maidens wept at the injustices forced upon them. Powerful witches hexed any who dared stumble across the shores of their dominion, while powerless peasants strove only to earn another day of stale bread and weak ale.

Until the land could no longer bear the weight of its misery.

And the waters rose, and washed it all away.

Now, Keld has no definition. It has erased all boundaries.

A silent world shines fresh and clear, grey-blue grass rippling under a dappled sky. Slanting sunbeams gently gild the souls who still wander, their desires forgotten, their lives quenched. But every river has spilled across glade and glen. Every lake has crept outward to drown village and castle. Each sea has swollen over forest and field, and the tides have lifted the oceans beyond their coastlines.

The distinction between water within and water without has dissolved. There is no more sadness here. No fountain can flow and no eye can weep.

All the land's pain has been submerged underneath the great still waters. 
There is no warmth, but neither is there cold. It’s like a dream, only Keld never needs to wake up.

Keld can finally breathe.