Over the world, a bird was flying, a ragged black note on the stave of the wind, too high for all but the rarest of ears. The bird flew on, and the taste of the pearl in its beak was unspeakable. As it passed beyond the frayed edges of our agreed reality it screeched once, then continued on its way. (…) I heard its wings beating over heaven, traveling past into these dusk latitudes beyond. Then I let it.