Bridget was telling Breathwoven stories in the Grove. Breathwoven, stringing together the spaces between breaths all while feigning interest in the stories about the candy mogul and the neurosurgeon that Bridget had left heartbroken.
Her stories were coming too fast, her breath was erratic and her eyes beginning to glaze over. Breathwoven could sense something coming, so he carefully wove a thread between her heart and the oldest, wisest tree in the Grove.
Bridget's words slowed, her gait scattered, "Breathwoven, I feel really weird."
"Yes," he said, "This is the path. Stay with it."
She opened her eyes to a new world. It still felt like the Grove, but it was an empty, glowing white hall. Expansive... echoing. She felt playful and alive. "Who dare enter the chaos of my brain?" She challenged, assuming she was simply playing with Breathwoven.
To her surprise a different voice answered. "I do. But only if you are ready for truth, love and revolution so real that it will crack you open."
Bridget's heart soared! She was excited, sensing possibility, comradery and definitely danger.
"What should I call you?" She asked.
"You can call me Mischief, if you like."
"Hello, Mischief," Bridget said, still amazed that there was someone else in the Grove. "It's very nice to meet you."
"Stormseed," he called her, not bothering to ask her what she would like to be called.
"Stormseed", Bridget thought that name was the truest reflection he could have given her. She never meant to, but storms followed her everywhere.
"What should we talk about first? Maybe oppression, or the nature of art, or love?" He continued coming into focus as he spoke, the glaring white light now softening. It wasn't a man, but had the shape of a man. And around his ankle was a rope, loose and frayed, like nothing was holding it together but his own will.
He started on about love, barely waiting for Bridget's response. "Love is not soft... love is vicious. Love protects us and those who we love. Love creates movement for growth. Love destroys so new things can grow. To love like a god looks like cruelty to humans. To love like a god is to not pour out your mercy to everyone who says pretty words. It is to wield your love like a weapon. To shine it with purpose and intention, to focus it on one thing that you want and allow all the other things to fall away. Love is not tender, it is not mercy… it is power."
Bridget's head was spinning. She had similar thoughts before, but this was taking it to a new extreme. Love as a weapon... actually made sense to her. She was a fan of tough love. Stepping aside when people needed to learn on their own. Yes, they shared this philosophy. Love and kindness are two separate forces. Kindness can inhibit love and love is not always kind.
Bridget shifted her focus back to the rope around his foot.
"Are you bound?" She asked Mischief.
"Yes," he replied. "I was a spark off a great current. I found myself in the Seen world, but I stumbled, I was trampled. And I found my way here. It was safe for me, but it caught me, and I have been stuck here ever since."
"Do you like it here?" She asked softly.
"I get to help people sometimes. I like that, but I miss being free."
Bridget stayed with him that day. She listened to the stories of helping humans. Of his desire to be free. She asked him questions, held up mirrors, listened to his longing… until he eventually looked down at the rope around his ankle and slipped it off.