The Tree of Ruin

Some say time is an arrow shot aimlessly into the dark of night.Some say it is precious gold, to be spent, shared, and hoarded. To others, it is the mortar between days, the web that holds suspended the glittering dewdrops of life. But in this web, there lurks a spider. Few will ever see her as she slips between the countless strands. Few will feel her touch as she cuts and mends the web to a pattern of her own design. Whether she works for good or ill may never be known, but know this: those caught by her threads can expect no mercy, for the tree of ruin is no gentle place to make a home.