(no subject)
Kassandra is downstairs.
A copy of The Wind in the Willows dangles half-forgotten from her fingertips as she trails through the bar. She found it somewhere.
She is learning new words, to add to the tangle of prophecy and memory.
Sticking up out of the pages of the book are ragged palimpsests, marked on in charcoal. Together they would make up a wild map leading nowhere, if anyone but Kassandra could fit them together.
A copy of The Wind in the Willows dangles half-forgotten from her fingertips as she trails through the bar. She found it somewhere.
She is learning new words, to add to the tangle of prophecy and memory.
Sticking up out of the pages of the book are ragged palimpsests, marked on in charcoal. Together they would make up a wild map leading nowhere, if anyone but Kassandra could fit them together.