My Writer's Block is neatly on hand.

(And oh my, the suggestion it gave me...)


The connections between every event in life, every detail that builds up into a meticulous plan, are seldom noticed by the ordinary folk. And of course, they most certainly can't see the silvery threads of fate that run across time, space and matter, signifying these often-ignored connections.

And of course, there are some who can. Some who would be called higher beings. Some who are merely...different.

For Ms. Bacon would most certainly not call herself a higher being; though as you can see, she would deign to call herself something much stranger. For the average mortal, however, she could certainly fit the bill - provided she wasn't in disguise. For Ms. Bacon was, to put it simply, a cloud of smoke and dust given sentience, and taking a few other souls along with it for the ride.

Not that this was how she would appear to most, of course. The smoke was ever-present, but the manifestation of a cigarette (and ornate holder) solved that problem. Where the rest of her human body could be seen through the billowing faces of the cloud, the skin was veiny and the clothes makeshift brown rags.

And in the hand that didn't hold her cigarette she nearly always wielded a riding crop.

Whatever purpose Ms. Bacon served was unknown and unanswered. For what reason she behaved as she did was a mystery; merely that she did as she did, following the threads of fate between people and getting them thoroughly tangled.

Not that she did that all the time. Ms. Bacon had a tendency to disappear for centuries.