The Portal Opens
Your initiation awaits
I was up until 4 a.m. The veil was thin, and my nerves? Raw. Something got through.
I didn’t mean to launch this book on 7/7—but maybe it meant to launch itself.
In certain circles, this day is called a portal. A number of truth-seeking and sacred revolt. In other circles, it’s just another day. A workday? A deadline? A (blue) Monday.
But Forbidden Fruit is not a book for those who keep their heads down and call it safety. It’s a book for those who remember what it was to be hungry. *Applecore emoji*.
It’s live now. The stories are written. You can sense a match which cannot be unstruck.
🜁 Kickstarter link (Video of the book sample from manufacturer forthcoming. They had a lovely outing this weekend, and even sent me pictures. 🖤)
If you feel called—step through. And if you’re not sure what the 7/7 portal is, I won’t explain it. But I will lean close and whisper: Seven is the number of the seeker. The double seven calls the seeker twice.
There’s something buried in the pages. Find it, and know.
Excerpts that stayed with me:
“The deep darkness of the ocean—with all the fear and mysticism it invokes—must be layered even deeper into our still-terrestrial DNA than the crack of a twig on a moonless night, or the twinkle of stars through the rustling canopy.”
— from “Too Far From the Sun”
“I don’t know anything. This place… it’s empty. It’s taking something away from me, every day. I forget myself. Forget where I am. Forget what’s down here with me.”
— from Hope & Prophecy
“The meek did, in fact, inherit the Earth and sought their just desserts—revenge humming to the rhythmic beat of tiny wings.”
— from To Be Frank
“The sap shimmered as it pooled at the base of the vial. For a heartbeat, Lue’lin Goety saw her own face. But then the eyes blinked. And they weren’t hers.”
— from Pine Blight
“To look upon it is to witness your own end. To speak is to grant it your last breath.”
— from What Lies Buried Below
“I see the ghost of his brother, Increase. I ask him, where you taking me, heaven or hell? … The bog ladies were coming for me, sense my imposition.”
— from Old Bones
“You take pruning hook in hand and kneel in obeisance, a worshiper of sorts... Sweat drips onto your bare arms, its trickling streams revealing golden veining of your skin intermingling with the grey dust, making a painted statue of you.”
— from Let the Pruning Hooks Remain Themselves
“Don’t try to reconstruct it. Don’t go looking for patterns. And whatever you saw just now—in the ______—forget it. It’s safer that way.”
— The Editor’s Note
Thank you for being part of this. I’m tired and lit and still dreaming.
Until next time,
Nico
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