When the gods die, they become voices on the wind. Pan became music.
Most people hardly notice the song, but you hear it clearly: Mournful yet compelling notes calling you deeper into the forest.
You follow the music to a glade where Pan, the last of Chaos’s Children sits playing in the sun. You lay down on the grass to listen to the songs until eventually you fall asleep.
When you awaken, you are alone, and the sun is almost down. You must’ve dreamed it, you think, until you look down and find the wooden flute cradled in your hand.

“LEYENDECKER, J. C. (Joseph Christian, 1874-1951). 🇺🇸 Saturday Evening Post, Spring [satyr], June 2, 1928.” by Halloween HJB is marked with CC0 1.0.

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