You were loved. You are loved. You have always been loved.
By the Children who wanted you, who clutched you to their chests in the darkness. By those who held you up to the light of the sun.
And you? Did you love them in return?
You are a traveler, on a motor-car journey across the forgotten asphalt of a destroyed world. your destination is unimportant; so is your cargo. What is important, is the things you see on the endless roads. In this scarred, somber, beautiful, dangerous world.
A porous, patchwork reality — where rice grows in blood-red paddies, where princesses romance their spears, where it is a bad idea to mispronounce a crocodile’s name.