[dreams] [the twelve powers - the angel city] Gigas - pages
The room of Gigas, again. Its is still dark, still unused, but near the entrance (the book Gigas, with its mechanical frame, is at the far end of the room, beyond several high arches)there is something new: sheaves upon sheaves of papers and old, battered journals, shoved into cubbyholes or stacked on one of two desks which now stand, nearly buried, among the makeshift shelves. It is hard to tell if they are the writings of one person, or several: collected over twenty years or two hundred, but they are all notes, observations, of one kind or another. The nearest one, wedged under the door and stopping it from opening further, reads:
"Nature always needs negotiations. Each power is living, and calls itself its own possession. In the city, the magic is nearly free: all you have to do is prove your purpose. If your will is stronger, your outcome better for the city, the energy rises up out of the stone."
The book stands open, as it always seems to, but this time, the page has been turned:
There is a delicate, beautiful painting on one side, of half a dozen people: each sits at their own desk or table, in separate rooms, each in an attitude of silent despair, gazing out their respective windows. Even though some of them should be able to see the others, none of them seem to connect to one another: all are lost in thought.
On the opposite page, in a blocky hand, is the demon Seldom:
"Lord of lost opportunities, god of missed connections. His hands are covered in tiny spines, each with its own hook: to catch and pull and draw out exquisite longing, to tear the threads of potential and time. His seeming is that of a balding man, heavy, his shirt sweat-stained; his slightly drunken jocularity always turning, at last, to needles and ice."
Even in this deep and buried room, lost within the blue towers, there is a window, though also close to the door. Passing by it, i finally notice an absence of sound, elsewhere everpresent; there is no susurrus of feathers.
I stop to open the window. Nothing. Silence. The sound of lichen and moss.
The Powers don't know about this room, this Gigas. Or, if they do, they choose to turn their faces away.