In them lie the answers to tomorrow's questions." --Brother Eldrin, Order of the Light Brandon leaned his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face. What to do? He knew he should call the authorities, but with what? Serilda--no, the lunatic--had destroyed his phone. He had to stop thinking of her as Serilda. That way led to madness. Once again he remembered his grandmother, her tales of sorcerers who created worlds with the power of their minds. She'd meant them as warnings, but those fanciful stories had inspired him to write. But, he'd never believed them. Fictional characters just didn't come to life. But he couldn't seem to dismiss her dire warnings about what happened to the sorcerers in her stories, either. When the worlds they created took on lives of their own, when they obtained a reality beyond the sorcerer's imagination, the sorcerers were destroyed. Like his father had been? He shook his head. Nonsense! Utter nonsense! Real was real. Fiction was fiction. And this woman was as real and solid as a person could get.
