Another week, and I’m actually still at this whole clockpunk Pied Piper thing! And not only have I not fluttered away from this project yet, I just want to keep working on it more.
Fancy that. :)
(Being an air sign is fantastically helpful for being a writer…until you inevitably hit that whole ‘I MUST WRITE ALL OF THE THINGS ALL AT THE SAME TIME’ stage. Which is generally the story of my life and more than a bit distracting, hah.)
That said, however! Last week, after having stayed up all night to transcribe the ravings of her fever-dreams, Peregrine finally woke to find Anna gone.
Now, he attempts to take stock of the surroundings he has left.
Everything else was as he remembered it, if only minus her, even if rememberance did not automatically equate to understanding. He could still feel the way his hand had strained to form these shapes across the wall, could still remember how he had traced them with his eyes as he himself was seeing them for the first time.
He had heard them from her mouth before, it was true, but that did not make them real.
And he had hoped that, finally, transcribed in this form and transferred from her lips to his hand to the steadiness of the wall, they might somehow have made more sense than when they merely floating free.
That is, until they had come to the corner, to the very last things he had scraped out until she had fallen silent and asleep and away. They had reached their most abstract here, lonely rhyming syllables and seemingly unconnected couplets of words, strings of followfollowfollow and help and please that he himself had punctuated with a single scrawled Yes.Advertisements