Bare-branched trees scatter sparkles of brilliant sunlight throughout the eerie mist that covers the Lake in the evening. Faces appear, mouthing silent words. Stay away? Go away? Come and play? Not at all clear. The gentle ripples as tiny waves lap against the shore create a rhythmic, hypnotic beat that coincides with the setting of the sun. This melodic calling and the transparent faces drawing me ever closer to the water’s edge. The mist turns red. Red for danger. A soft breeze chills the already chilled air. A branch taps my shoulder simultaneously with a whispered ‘Go’! So I run.
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The Mansionic Perspective 
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