Everything that dies some day comes back
Sunday, 21 September
The Dormouse
Now our luck may have died and out love may
Be cold but with you forever I'll stay
We're goin' out where the sand's turnin' to gold
So put on your stockings cos the night's getting' cold
And maybe everything dies
That's a fact but maybe everything that dies
Some day comes back
Something curious happened. Not the disruption to the world from the breach into Dream; that, while unusual, is hardly an unknown event, and the resulting chaos was mundane. No, I mean something more interesting, and pertaining to my daughter. Wanda's hapless dream of Kent - her abiding devotion to a phantom would be touching if I did not find it pitiable - meant a little aspect of myself turned from conjured flesh into real man, like Eve born from Adam's bone. But my daughter unstitched him from the fabric of dream... And gave him a soul. Not much of one, true, but he is no longer a mere flesh doll that walks and talks. There is some spark inside him that means he is nothing of me any more. How very curious.
It is easy enough for me to shrug on a new version of him, of course. The idea of Wanda having to deal with the two of us at once is vaguely amusing to me. And I want to see my daughter. So I cross through the town and knock gently on her door.
[Open to Wanda's household]
The Dormouse
Now our luck may have died and out love may
Be cold but with you forever I'll stay
We're goin' out where the sand's turnin' to gold
So put on your stockings cos the night's getting' cold
And maybe everything dies
That's a fact but maybe everything that dies
Some day comes back
Something curious happened. Not the disruption to the world from the breach into Dream; that, while unusual, is hardly an unknown event, and the resulting chaos was mundane. No, I mean something more interesting, and pertaining to my daughter. Wanda's hapless dream of Kent - her abiding devotion to a phantom would be touching if I did not find it pitiable - meant a little aspect of myself turned from conjured flesh into real man, like Eve born from Adam's bone. But my daughter unstitched him from the fabric of dream... And gave him a soul. Not much of one, true, but he is no longer a mere flesh doll that walks and talks. There is some spark inside him that means he is nothing of me any more. How very curious.
It is easy enough for me to shrug on a new version of him, of course. The idea of Wanda having to deal with the two of us at once is vaguely amusing to me. And I want to see my daughter. So I cross through the town and knock gently on her door.
[Open to Wanda's household]