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Deep in the shadows, the imps of ink danced. They whirled and capered sending ideas to the sleeping Witch, giggling as the black tendrils seeped into her skin and into her soul. As they danced, they dissolved, following the flowing black ink into the Witch and melted into her Shadow… And it was good.

Here are my accounts of the worlds at play beneath the common reality of ordinary life: the worlds of non-Euclidean geometries, of ancient tomes and murmuring madmen, of ancient legends of undying evil, and of the mad gods at the centre of the universe…and a dash of witchcraft on the side.