March 19, 2023 · 10:11 pm
So many books. But so dusty. I’ll just do a little cleaning while I’m here then get down to some serious reading.
But she ended up having a serious discussion with a local on the subject of sand, quartz to be specific, the value of such for scrying to pinpoint. At one point she asked how he knew so much about it, and he turned away, disappointed. He thought they were talking friend to friend…
… but then realized it was very dark that night — no moon — and the party below was quite loud so that would explain why she didn’t pick up on the voice, which was quite distinctive and, let’s say, smoky. Like quartz itself. “Let’s put it that I understand the present,” he decided to say. “Presents actually.”
“Like Santa?” she attempted to joke. Soo close. He revealed himself.
“You’ll never *guess* who I just met up at the library.”
Arthur didn’t want to guess. He wanted answers. He had been reading if Shelley hadn’t. Novel 5. What is a cheese being? he kept asking over and over until it dawned on him like a truth sun over the horizon. Or moon, hmm. He reversed course and drove toward it instead. He decided he didn’t want answers. It’s just cheese, he said to himself. Don’t overreact.
March 19, 2023 · 6:04 am
After 36 successful romance novels about Edward and a lot of others, she was rolling in cash; could literally make herself an angel in the floor with it. But she was no angel. Demon instead — she knew this deep down in her heart, despite what surrogate father Keith B. told her back at the beginning of section 01. She’d sold her soul; ground angel she was in the end. Worthless.
After waking up and reviewing the dream, she decided there was only one thing to do. Tell Arthur about Edward. No, not the *actual* truth. The reality in the novel, 5th in a series. If she did, maybe she could nip what was coming — blooming — in the future in the bud. She had to pull a Barney Fife.
“There’s someone out there in the dunes — do you see it, Arthur?”
“Mirage,” he waved it off. “I’ve seen it too. Then it disappears if you stare at it enough.”
Sure enough, Shelley watches the illusion fade to wavery nothingness. She turns, tired of facing the huge mountains of sand. She’s in the present. Arthur turns with her.
“We haven’t been to that island over there.”
“No. But I sensed you have a point to make. You hardly touched your dinner.”
“You know I don’t like vegetables.”
“Not the point.” He sighs. Sandman, he thinks. Must ask about Sandman.
(to be continued)