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  • #4527

    The trial run was not a complete success, and so it was back to the cooking pot and the agonizingly slow wait.

    The spell and the magic concoction had rendered the three women partially invisible: it seemed that anything with the colour yellow in it (including of course green and orange and so on) remained plainly visible. Pathways of bile had been illuminated like never before: it was not a pleasant sight.

    “I always have trouble with the damn yellows,” remarked Eleri with a despondent sigh, as her hand absentmindedly rubbed her solar plexus. “Hey!” she elbowed Glynis in the ribs, “I just had a thought! Maybe you need to put something purple in the pot.”

    Glynis predictably enough rolled her eyes at Eleri and asked with a snort, “Such as?”

    “I don’t know but you know how they always tell you to twirl your yellows with purple.” Eleri’s face fell and her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know, Glynis, it’s all so discouraging. I miss the others, it’s too damn quiet around here these days. You’d think we’d be able to amuse ourselves, and that makes it even more depressing, doesn’t it? How on earth are we going to snap out of it?”

    “Speak for yourself you miserable tart, I’m busy trying to make this potion so we can get out of here. Just try to buck up, will you! If I had time I’d make you a Buck the Fuck Up potion, but can’t you see I’m busy!” Glynis slammed the wooden spoon down on the counter and burst into tears.

    Eleri raised an eyebrow and said sagely, “Who’s calling who a miserable tart now then, eh!” and then ducked as the wooden spoon came hurtling towards her.

    “Now now,” said Margoritt, “We’re all a bit stressed, no need to take it out on each other. Group hug!”

    “Oh piss off,” replied Eleri and Glynis in unison. “We’re not that desperate,” added Eleri.

    #4446

    Margoritt’s left knee was painful that day. Last time it hurt so much was twenty years ago, during that notorious drought when a fire started and almost burnt the whole forest down. Only a powerful spell from the Fae people could stop it. But today they sky was clear, and the forest was enjoying a high degree of humidity from the last magic rain. Margoritt, who was not such a young lady anymore dismissed the pain as a sign of old age.
    You have to accept yourself as you are at some point, she sighed.

    The guests were still there, and everyone was participating to the life of the community. Eleri, who had been sick had been taken care of in turn by Fox and Glynnis, while Rukshan had reorganised the functioning of the farm. They now had a second cow and produced enough milk to make cakes and butter that they sold to the neighbouring Faes, and they had a small herd of Rainbow Lamas that produced the softest already colourful wool, among other things. Gorrash, awoken at night, had formed an alliance with the owls that helped them to keep the area clear of mice and rats and was also in charge of the weekly night fireworks.

    The strange colourful eggs had hatched recently giving birth to strange little creatures that were not yet sure of which shape to adopt. They sometimes looked like cuddly kittens, sometimes like cute puppies, or mischievous monkeys. They always took the form of a creature with a tail, except when they were frightened and turned into a puddle. It had been hard for Margoritt who mistook them for dog pee, but Fox had been very helpful with his keen sense of smell and washing away the poor creatures had been avoided. Nobody had any idea if they could survive once diluted in water.

    The day was going great, Margoritt sat on her rocking chair enjoying a fresh nettle lassi on the terrace while doing some embroidery work on Eleri’s blouse. Her working kit was on a small stool in front of her. Working with her hands helped her forget about her knee and also made her feel useful in this youthful community where everybody wanted to help her. She was rather proud of her last design representing a young girl and a god statue holding hands together. She didn’t think of herself as a matchmaker, but sometimes you just had to give a little push when fate didn’t want to do its job.

    Micawber Minn arrived, his face as long as the Lamazon river. He had the latest newspaper with him and put it on Margoritt’s lap. Surprise and a sudden sharp and burning pain in her knee made her left leg jerk forward, strewing all her needles onto the floor. Margoritt, upset, looked at the puddle of lassi sluggishly starting to covering them up.
    “What…” she began.
    “Read the damn paper,” said Minn.

    She did. The front page mentioned the reelection of Leroway as Lord Mayor, despite his poor results in developing the region.
    “Well, that’s not surprising,” Margoritt said with a shrug, starting to feel angry at Minn for frightening her.
    “Read further,” said Minn suddenly looking cynical.
    Margoritt continued and gasped. Her face turned blank.
    “That’s not possible. We need to tell the other,” she said. “We can not let Leroway build his road through the forest.”

    #4320
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      “Well, the backdoor was opened, you see, like my wife says…” Inspector Melon started to explain Finnley how he managed to be in the house no sooner had she turned back to dusting duties, or rather turned her back to the door and said duties.

      “Stop it!” she interrupted, “and put those shoe covers on your muddy shoes, damnit, I’m not going to do the floors again on your behalf, you miscreant.”

      Finnley, what’s this racket about?” Godfrey appeared from behind the massive last last century clock licking his fingers off the peanut butter.

      Finnley put her fists on her hips with a defiant air, not gone unnoticed by Godfrey, “Well, THIS dripping wet gentleman pretends to be a policeman investigating on the Jingly girl disappearance… Not that we know anything about that anyhow.”

      Inspector Melon couldn’t help but say “Interesting you should mention it, did I say I was looking for Ms Jingle Bells?”

      Godfrey couldn’t help but give a sideway look of “what have you done” to Finnley, who replied by her usual “why look at me like I did something wrong” look.

      #4309

      The remembrance had made the magic book reappear in Rukshan’s bag, and with it, its leaves ripe with vibrant parts of the long ago story. Rukshan started to read, immediately engrossed by the story it told.

      When the Heartswood was young, many thousands of years ago, during the Blissful Summer Age

      WHO
      — The Dark FAE
      — The Mapster DWARF
      — The Glade TROLL
      — The Trickster DRYAD
      — The Tricked GIRL
      — The Laughing CRONE
      — The Toothless DRAGON

      ACT 1, SCENE 1 – THE PREPARATION

      NARRATOR: It all started as an idea, small and unnoticeable, at first. Almost too frail to endure. But it soon found a fertile soil in the mind of seven improbable acolytes. It took roots and got nourishment from greed, envy, despair, sorrow, despondence, rebellion and other traits. And it grew. That growing idea bound them together, and in search of the way to obtain what it wanted, got them to work together to do an unthinkable thing. Rob the Heartswood of its treasure, the Crest Jewel of the Gods, the radiant Gem that was at its centre. It would be the end of their sorrow, the end of the Gods unfair power of all creation… The idea obscured all others, driving them to act.

      FAE: Did you get the map?
      DWARF: Of course, what do you think, I am no amateur. What do you bring to the table?
      FAE: I bring the way out. But first things first, the map will get us there, but we still need a way in. What says your TROLL friend?
      DWARF: He heard rumours, there is a DRYAD. Her tree is dying, she tried to petition the Gods, but to no avail. She will help.
      FAE: Can your friend guarantee it?
      DWARF: You have damn little trust. You will see, when she brings in the GIRL. She is the key to open the woods. Only an innocent heart can do it, so the DRYAD will trick her.
      FAE: How? I want to know everything, I don’t like surprises. An unknowing acolyte is a threat to our little heist. What’s her story?
      DWARF: I don’t know much. Something about a broken heart, a dead one, her lover maybe. The DRYAD told the GIRL she could bring her loved one back from the dead, in the holy woods.
      FAE: I can work with that. So we are good then?
      DWARF: You haven’t told me about your exit plan. What is it?
      FAE: I can’t tell you, not now. We need the effect of surprise. Now go get the others, we will reconvene at the woods’ entrance, tomorrow night, at the darkest moon of the darkest day.

      SCENE 2 – THE CURIOUS GODMOTHER

      GIRL: Godmother, I need to go, you are not to worry.
      CRONE (cackling): Let me come with you, the woods are not safe at this time of the year. The Stranger is surely out there to get you.
      GIRL: No, no, Godmother, please stay, you cannot help me, you need to rest.

      Rukshan looked at some of the blank pages, there were still missing patches

      ACT 2 – SCENE 3 – THE HEIST

      In the heart of the Heartswoods

      TROLL: Let me break that crystal, so we can share it!
      GIRL (reaching for it to protect it): No! I need it whole!
      DRYAD (in suave tone): Let it go! I will protect it and give you what you want…
      GIRL: Your promises are worthless! You lied to me!
      CRONE: (cackles) Told you!
      DWARF: Give it to me!
      FAE (quieting everyone): Let’s be calm, friends. Everyone can get what they want.

      GIRL (startled): Eek! A Guardian DRAGON! We are doomed!
      FAE (reaching too late for the crystal): Oh no, it had broken in seven pieces. I will put them in this bag, each of us will get one piece after we leave. (to the DRAGON) Lead the way out of this burning circle!
      DWARF (understanding): Oh, that was your exit strategy…
      FAE (rolling eyes): Obvious-ly.

      That was all that the book had to show at the time. Rukshan thought the writer got a little lazier with the writing as the story went, but it was good enough to understand more or less what had happened.

      There was one last thing that was shown in the book.

      WHAT THEY STOLE
      — Shard of Infinite Knowledge
      — Shard of Transmutation and Shapeshifting
      — Shard of Ubiquity and Teleportation
      — Shard of Infinite Influence and Telepathy
      — Shard of Infinite Life and Death
      — Shard of Grace and Miracles
      — Shard of Infinite Strength

      #4262

      “Damn it!” said Glynis, “Let’s do this!”

      She slammed her hand on the map—which she had been studying for several days now—in an attempt at bravado.

      Now, what do I need to take with me?

      #4245

      Glynis woke to the sound of wind and rain. Heavy still with sleep, she stared at the cracked and yellowed bedroom ceiling and noticed a large damp patch had formed where the thatched roof needed repairs. Drip by relentless drip, it was slowly but surely creating a puddle on the wooden floor below. Her lemon and puce floral window curtains billowed majestically into the room.

      Strange, I must have left the sash open last night.

      There was a loud crash in the kitchen.

      Leaping out of bed with an agility which belied her sleepiness, Glynis rushed to investigate. A large ornately framed print of a bowl of fruit had fallen from its hanging place above the mantlepiece.

      Glynis stared in amazement. She thought the dark renaissance colours of the painting were depressing but had found it too cumbersome to remove from the wall. Now, as if by magic, the picture lay shattered and defeated on the tiles below.

      It took her a few seconds to take in that there was a small opening in the wall behind where the picture had hung.

      Putting on her sturdy work boots and gloves she swept up the glass so she could safely approach the opening. It wasn’t that big, just a square which had been neatly cut into a wooden beam to form a hiding space. She peered inside the darkness of the cavity and then explored the interior with her hand.

      Nothing!

      She felt oddly disappointed and chastised herself, wondering what it was she had been expecting.

      Anyway, at least I can get rid of that damned bowl of fruit now.

      She carefully removed the rest of the glass and pulled the picture from its frame. Turning it over, Glynis discovered what she thought at first glance was an oil spill on the back, but after more careful inspection she realised it was a roughly drawn map.

      #4200

      When Eleri’s little dog started coughing and wheezing again her first reaction was to snap at him. Irritating though it inevitably was, once again she realized she’d been holding her breath somehow, or probably more accurately, holding her energy. Or holding everyone elses, like a brick layers hod carrier, weighed down with blocks from other peoples walls.

      “It’s too hot in here, come outside,” she said to the scruffy mongrel. The cozy warmth of the wood stoves had become stifling. She slipped through the door into the cool night.

      Breathe, she said to herself, momentarily forgetting the gasping dog. Her hunched shoulders descended jerkily as she inhaled the sodden air, wondering about ozone or ions, what was it people said about the air after the rain? Whatever it was, it was good for something, good for the heart and soul of mortal humans.

      Feeling better with every breath, Eleri noticed the olive branches rustling wetly overhead. The olive tree had been planted too close to the fig tree ~ wasn’t that always the way, forgetting how large things grow when one plants a seed or a sapling. As the old fig tree had broadened it’s sheltering canopy, the olive sapling had reached out an an angle to find the sun, and sprinted upwards in a most un olive like manner. This reminded her of the straight little sapling story, which had always irritated her. What was commendable about a row of straight little soldier saplings anyway? All neat and tidy and oh so boring, none of them stepping out of line with a twist here or a gnarl there. No character! But the olive tree, in it’s race towards the light, leaned over the gable end of the dwelling as if spreading it’s arms protectively over the roof. A regimental straight sapling would have simply withered in among the fig leaves, whereas this one had the feel of a grandfatherly embrace of benevolent support.

      What was it she’d heard about trees and oxygen? They exhaled the stuff that we wanted and inhaled the stuff we didn’t want, that was about as technical as she could muster, and it was enough. She breathed in tandem with the trembling rain sparkled leaves. In. And out. In, and out. Deeper breaths. Damn, it was good! That was good air to be breathing, what with the rain and the trees doing their thing. And there for the taking, no strings attached.

      When the oven timer interrupted her sojourn in the night air, Eleri noticed that the little dog had stopped coughing. On her way back inside, she noticed the new mermaids patiently awaiting a coat or two of sea green paint and wondered if she would ever find a dragon to replicate. She was sure they’d be popular, if only she could find one.

      #4189
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        “You see,” Godfrey pointed out with the rolled paper “Finnley’s got a point here.”
        “And what point pray you say?” Liz’ looked outraged at the lack of encouragements.

        “Oh, I don’t know, I just said that to grab your attention for a minute.” Godfrey smiled from the corner of his mouth.

        Liz’ could not think of something to say, suddenly noticing with amazing details the tense silence, and the small gathered crowd of people looking at her in a mix of face expressions. A scene from her last hospitalisation came back to her, and the horror of trying to seem sane and not utter anything strange to those so-called experts, who were gauging her sanity like hyenas laughing around a tentfull of human snacks.

        “You have my full attention.” she heard herself say unexpectedly.

        “That’s really the first step in rehabilitation” the doctor opined with a pleased smile.

        “Did, did I relapse again?”

        “What are you talking about Liz’?” Godfrey was back looking at her with concern in his eyes. She had never noticed his eyes before. Only the furry moustaches above them.

        “I think I got lost in the story’s threads again…” Liz’ felt like a little girl being berated by the teacher again, and by her mother for not standing for herself.
        “Yeah, it’s a bit of a dumpster…” Haki said snarkily, to which Liz quickly replied mentally “go away, you’re just a character, I fired you many threads ago.”

        Liz’, you have that vacant expression again, Liz’!” Godfrey was waving at her face.
        “Stop DOING that, you old coot! What’s wrong with all of you!”

        Felicity took a reprieve from her observation post ogling the gardener’s backside, on the guise of bird-watching, and snickered “told you it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

        “Hold on” Godfrey stopped her in a conciliatory tone. “your attitude isn’t really helping Felicity. And Liz sharing her dream recall is a good thing, honestly, we could all do with a bit of getting in touch with our magical self.”

        “Oh, I’ve had enough of this loads of bollocks” Felicity said, and she packed and left for good.

        “That was a bit abrupt ending, but I like it” opined Godfrey at second reading. “Actually like it better than the version where she jumps through the window, probably pushed by the maid she criticized about the hair in the pea soup.”

        “That’s about as magical as I can muster for now, Godfrey, give me time.” Liz smiled relieved that the mummy ordeal was behind her. “Fuck murmality” she smiled impishly, “let’s start a new fantasy thread.”

        “With dragons in it?” Godfrey’s eyes were beaming.

        “Oh, you and your damned dragons…”

        #4186
        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          The house is empty. Perhaps it is more correct to say I, Mater, am the only one home, for the emptiness which envelops the house so strongly has its own presence.

          The family have all left on their respective pursuits.

          Dido is off following another guru. I forget who it is …someone she had read about on the damned internet thing they all spend so much time on — I’ve still not come to grips with it but suspect it is time I did. I had hoped Dido would stay home longer this time — there is so much work to be done around the place and I am not feeling any younger. “Just for a week!” she told me excitedly as she left but it has already been nearly two.

          Prune, unique child that she is, always had such trouble making friends with others of her age however recently she made the acquaintance of a new girl at school who shares her predilection for unusual interests. Prune is staying at her new friend’s house for the weekend. I smile, feeling more than a little sympathy for the parents.

          I have not seen or heard much from Devan for a long time. He is in Brisbane, last I heard anyway.

          The twins, not my twins but the other twins; Sara and Stevie, decided they could not leave their mother. Not now. Not while she is in hospital and so poorly. The right decision I feel though I am also disappointed. At Clove’s insistence, Corrie has gone to visit with them. Clove and Corrie don’t know yet … Dodo and I talked about it and decided Fred should be the one to tell them.

          Goodness only knows where Fred is now.

          I decide I will try and get acquainted with the emptiness. Maybe even make friends. Thought this doesn’t feel likely at the moment.

          “Hello,” I say quietly. I can hear the question in my voice. The doubt. Clearly this won’t do. “One has to believe,” I admonish myself sternly. I try again:

          “Hello Emptiness. What is your name? I can’t call you Emptiness all the time. My name is Mater and this is my house”.

          I say this firmly. Much better.

          I notice that sunlight is attempting to enter through the kitchen blinds and I throw them open. It is a beautiful day. I see that Bert is already up and working in the garden. Planting something. I remember now, he told me he was going to start another vege garden, nearer the house than the other one.

          #4174
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            “You do exaggerate so, Finnley,” remarked Liz. “It was much longer than five minutes, and you chose to go when all the rest of the staff were on holidays too. Damned inconsiderate of you all, really! You’re lucky you still have a position here to come back to, my girl.”

            Liz shuffled some papers on her desk in a businesslike manner and then blew the ensuing dust off her keyboard with a flourish.

            “And don’t make those vile gestures behind my back.”

            #4145
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              “The turmeric has sprouted!” Liz beamed at the slender green shoots. “Finnley, where are you, come and look!”

              “Looks like the snails have been eating it,” remarked Felicity.

              Liz swung round at the sound of her voice, frowning. “You again! Get off my thread, damn you!”

              #4134
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                The front door rang at the same time.

                Elizabeth was in the mood to let it ring until whoever was there finally let it go, but there was an imperative and distinct sting in that ring.

                She wrapped her night gown around her waist, carefully adjusted her towel beehive coiffe, and sluggishly slid on her rabbit slippers to the door. That summer heat was just too unbearable.

                COMING!” She yelled at the door, estimating her arrival there at another good minute of bunny slipper sliding and slaloming around the scattered mess.

                When she finally managed to open the door, her worst fears proved true.

                Elizabeth! What sort of attire is that?! Are you sloshed already?”

                Liz’ managed a pitiful smile “ Mother, how lovely seeing you here.”

                “Damn bloody right it is, and not a minute too late, by the look of that place. Having another of your barmy spells haven’t you? I knew something was wrong when that delightful maid of yours stopped phoning in for her daily report. Now, budge up, let me in, take care of that mess of yours.”

                #4103

                “Give that to me, Funley. You can’t go rifling through my trash can. How many times have I told you? It’s practically stealing.” Ed made a grab for the piece of paper in Funley’s grasp but she held it at arm’s length.

                “I think not, Mr Steam. Not until you have explained this!” She shook the piece of paper in her hand.

                Duncan leaned forward and regarded it quizzically. “It looks like a recipe for bone broth.”

                “Oh what!” said Funley. “Damn it! there must have been another reboot.”

                #4050
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  “Don’t be silly dear, Hilda’s in Boston,” replied Sophie. Damn! she thought to herself. What was she doing here?

                  #4038

                  Connie looked at the Bossy Pants instructions, her face inscrutable.

                  Hilda was not up yet, probably passed out on her couch after a night of debauchery and snorting pepsain. As usual, she’d left a heap of links on her blog for Connie to choose from. Well, and of course, to sexy-bait them up. There were times she was glad she didn’t have to face all the people herself and interview them. Today was not one of them.

                  She gestured at the awkward new intern. He passed a head through the door. She didn’t give him the time to open his mouth. “Another chamomile tea,… thaaank you.” He disappeared hurriedly.

                  “At least this one gets me.”

                  For today, chamomile was the least of evils. Anything stronger would have her go full contact on any one daring to even look at her. If people knew the efforts she made daily.
                  Her self-defence instructor knew something about it. She almost sent him to the hospital last week.

                  Glancing upon the list of notes, she noticed that Hilda had made a highlight to double check on the gouda cat-like man. That was strange. Hilda wasn’t one to come back on stuff once shared and published. Definitively not the past-dwelling profile. There must have been something more.

                  “Well, know what, old tart: early bird gets the worm.”

                  She rose from the swivel chair, taking her purse swiftly and aiming for the exit door with the path of least eye-contact when the odd guy appeared again with the damn tea. She’d forgotten about that. Again, her brains firing at full speed, she didn’t leave him time to tell or ask anything.

                  “You don’t know where Joel is? Of course not…” The photographer was probably on another assignment. Had not been seen for weeks it seemed. Not that she cared, he would have been more like an alibi for her to go an a follow-up mission.

                  Sometimes her brains would also make her do the darnedest thing. She couldn’t stop herself from telling to the hapless intern.

                  “You look too happy Ric. Take your coat and come with me.”

                  #3995
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    “Oh yes, big boots. Very large foot size that Finnley,” murmered Godfrey distractedly.

                    “Are you listening to me, Godfrey? This is my thread and I demand that you listen to me no matter how much I prattle on incessantly about nothing of any importance. That is precisely what this thread is for.”

                    But Godfrey did not reply. He sat staring gloomily into the distance. Truth was, he couldn’t get Dido out of his mind; he had wanted to be the one to rescue her from her concrete prison and he would have if it had not been for that damned Roberto. Or was it Roberta?

                    But once again I fell short, he thought disconsolately.

                    #3952
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      “That’s a way to kill the mood” muttered Godfrey. “If you don’t get more compliant, I’m going to have to write you out.”

                      He didn’t say the last sentence out loud, but almost did.

                      The last letter from the editor which had just come through the mail got him all angered. He took a few deep breathes, reminded of the advice of Lady Ping Chongfu, the self-titled Goddess of Fengshui. “You should avoid getting angry during all this year, or the consequences might be disastrous.” Well, she told a lot of rubbish too, that this year men should say yes to their wife, and buy many precious totems and expensive trinkets. Roberto will be in for a spin, with Liz extravagant requests…

                      He looked again at the letter with a resolutely more compliant mood : “Dear, I have reviewed the drafts. The story is not coming out or compelling enough. I have put my remarks on each page. Please check the attached file. You need to rework on this outline. With a brief introduction on last year’s achievement, dwell on the current challenges and requirements to meet our business objectives and then move into strategic plans from your perspective over the period of 3 years that will support the business objectives.”

                      “Damn editors,” he muttered again. “Can’t believe the cheek, “not coming out or compelling enough.” That’s really a way to kill the mood.”

                      #3928
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Godfrey, shouldn’t you DO something about that? The characters are wandering all over the place, on the wrong threads, wandering right out of stories, whether they’ve been written out or not. They’re all just doing whatever they damn well want, it’s getting ridiculous!”

                        Obligingly Godfrey cackled loudly, in what Liz presumed was a game attempt to restore some order in the threads (mistakenly assuming momentarily that they were in Caketown) .

                        “Are they all turning into anarchists?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

                        “Don’t be daft, Godfrey, you can have characters that are anarchists, but you can’t have anarchists that are characters, where will it end? Who will be in control, and lead the story?”

                        “The writer will have to follow the lead of the characters, then, and support their moves with filler and back story.”

                        Elizabeth felt faint. “What are you suggesting?” she whispered, filled with dread and uncertainty.

                        #3815
                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          “We have registered your complaint and our Noise Control Officer will be around shortly.”

                          The smooth voice of the woman on the other end of the line did little to placate Bea. In fact, she could feel herself working up to a frenzy.

                          “The damn officer will come around and that cackler will stop cackling and your officer will say: we can’t do anything about the cackling if we don’t hear the cackling for ourselves. Because we have to measure the decibels of the cackle and we have to ascertain the cackle is indeed loud enough for us to warrant confiscating the cackle.

                          Bea knew she was getting agitated and took a deep breath. Just breathe. Calm down.

                          “It really is most annoying to be woken up continually by cackling. What would you do in my situation? she asked, miserably imagining the red manicured fingernails and perfectly coiffured hair which surely must be attached to a voice this calm and imperturbable.

                          “Have you tried talking to the Cackler? It’s always best if people can work it out between themselves. Point out to them how their cackling is impacting on your quality of life. I am sure they will be reasonable.”

                          #3804

                          In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions

                          “And what is the way out?”

                          Lord R’eye felt a stab of anxiety. It was that voice again. Always asking questions. Prior to first hearing the voice, he believed he knew all there was to know of the known universe, but this voice was beyond his comprehension. He could not define its source nor understand its intention.

                          “Damn it, R’eye! Stop prevaricating and pontificiating, will you. How many more aeons will it take for you to give me a straight answer. Goddamit, I demand an answer. What is the way out?”

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