Page 88Remarkable words

Walking outside of the Cathedral, I felt mildly confused. Maybe a little more than just mildly, but it wasn't just that. I felt happy for Esmeralda, for her work and her travels and hoped she was .... enjoying herself now. It would probably take a while before they got into it again, them talking about me and Esmeralda explaining things. Or maybe they just jumped each other as soon as I was away.

I'd made a point of it to not listen.

Which was harder than I thought.

Fortunately, the giggling was drawn out by the buzz of music and people talking downstairs. At a time like this, I would have loved to just walk into a library and read somewhere in a corner. It would have been very interesting. The sound of silence, the light reflected on wood. Ideally of course. And a table, just for me, where no one would interrupt me for hours. So I could simply sit and read.

Which was exactly what I was going to do. So, I headed home with a mild smile on my face and trying to drown out any fantasies about Esmeralda and Emily. It wasn't completely successful, but I was grateful for not having barged in on them later.

My phone buzzed while I was still walking. A text message: "Will come by tomorrow, early, to explain things. Be home. S."

Of course that meant that she would come as soon as the sun had set. Would she sleep nearby? Possibly. It wasn't worth worrying about. From what I'd seen, Seriph always made sure she had enough resources at her disposal. It did make me wonder if she had tried to spy on me. Part of me said 'of course' but another part thought that she probably didn't. That she didn't need to because she could judge me well.

And she did.

I'm not sure I was equally sharp in my assumptions about her. She'd killed my father... but...

Did he deserve it?

Maybe...

Did she deserve the action?

If she'd been treated like Nuru, it wasn't really that far-fetched to want to take action. Though what she hinted at is that she would have died in a few years because of what they did to her. Was it really that bad? Seriph had never lied to me, everything she'd said straight was straight. Her honesty had been refreshing.

I sighed while I opened my door. There was no way my head would be able to wrap all the way around everything that had happened tonight. Including Grace's weird words. Did she know someone that knew me? Oddly enough it didn't seem like she knew Esmeralda. Not by name anyway.

The first thing I did inside, was writing down everything that happened tonight. Most of it as down to earth as possible. Just writing down what happened, what I thought. Replaying the events in my head like a movie. Then I was going to read, starting in one of the fantasy ones I've bought. About a magical color or something.

But as I'm writing this, I realize that I may have to read the words of tonight a few times until it will become clear to me. But not now, now is the time for other worlds that are not my own. The words that allow me to float, soar and dream away from all that is real.

Not that I had such a clear grip on reality anymore. Most of my life was quite fantastic.

To the books!

It was surprisingly fun to read again. It felt like ages ago. I only remember reading a normal book when I was in the library room long ago. I never did finish that book. Not that I'm finished now, despite many hours of reading. It's close to daylight now but I wanted to write just a little bit more before I went to sleep. I wished there was some way of thanking the authors of the stories I've read over the years. A way to thank them for my dreams, my fantasies, my thrilling adventures. In many ways, they are all part of me, when I hunt the nights I feel like a vampire from a horror story. When I kiss, I feel like a romance novel. Not all the time, but looking back at times.

I'm not sure what kind of book would contain a daughter jumping after her father, dropping to his death. A thriller maybe. Well, some books defied description besides the most basic ones. Some books might be fantasy but contained things that felt more real than non-fiction. Documentary books could also dream. No one but the writers could stop them.

And I'm glad they, the writers, often didn't stop themselves.

Where would we be without their dreams?

I'm going to bed.

Where indeed, little writer.