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.


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