Stories are often wrought in the darkness, the immeasurable sea of the unknown. Man becomes irreversibly convinced that here lies his demise, here lies his doom and his defeat. Such is his nature that he rarely pauses to consider the other, the light, the known...

Seven feet tall. Skin gray and pallid. Eyes of pure black. Breath fetid and rotting. The smell of decay upon its lips. Wings, paper-thin and laced with veins. Blood of putrid green. That’s how I’ve always imagined it. That’s how I see it still; that unnamable, unseen...