You’d been in the woods for far too long, now. A part of you knows this, yet you can’t seem to find it in you to turn back. The sky has started growing dark as the sun hangs low in the sky, the forest rough on your feet and brush tangling in your path. Drawn away from the path by the sound of a pan pipe, the sound continues to echo in your ears, an energetic and cheerful sound that surely marks the approach of civilization? Yet, the further you go on, the longer the forest seems to go. Until, finally, you make your way to… a beach?

There, along the water’s edge, a satyr stands to one side, playing the pan pipethat had drawn you so far astray with gusto, mermaids and fawns and centaurs gathered around, with wine and drink laid out on the rocks of the sandy shore. Some kind of celebration, perhaps. In the center, lit up by the bonfire and just beyond the shoulders of a lop-eared rabbit woman, you can see shiny black curls bouncing along to the satyr’s music and the beat of a centaur’s drum, and the shock of brilliant blue legs against the orange cast of the fire and pale yellow sand.

Michael laughs merrily, dancing to the music with fire in his veins and slightly too much of the satyrs’ wine in his system as the crowd claps him on. The night has just begun, and the day before seems to fade away to the joys of celebration and the warm sand underneath his feet. His eyes blink open, looking through the crowd, before he notices you, peaking into the moment, giving you a confused look as his head bobs to one side, stilling his dance before another siren tries to push him out of the way.

“Ow! Hey!” Michael’s head turns to look at the siren in protest, distracted from you for the moment.