Pale Beasts

Stacey's balance left her. "'Good' means life affirming." The old woman's mouth had
not moved. "Evil is selfish, it disregards life."
"Then which is good? Order, or chaos?"
Stacey did not answer, because it took work and time to accept what the glow showed
her-that despite similarities of tone and accent, the voice that answered came not
from her ancient hostess, but from the horn in the old woman's lap.
Stacey remembered another triad who listened to voices from a cone of sorts, a crater
in Central Park, as the sun went down that day.
She had joined another conclave. She really was a part of this.
Surprise and fear have ways of making one speechless.