Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
That she can spend carefree time with him. That she’s had a terrible start in life yet bounced back without trouble, while I’m still broken.
Tristan always attaches a little gift, or another message for me to her collar, and while there’s always a pretense of it being about our research, they’ve become more… tender. I’m ashamed to say I’ve not discouraged him. I eat any treat he sends me and find it endearing how he always assures me it has ‘no animal’ in it.
And while we don’t speak in person, the messages have also become more frivolous. He’s written to me extensively on how he’s been working with the royal cooks to perfect a recipe for a pizza made out of their local ingredients. Yesterday, the update was that it’s not perfect yet, but Tristan has managed to coerce Prince Sylvan to share his crop of tomatoes. I find the simple nature of those musings so sweet and soothing. I would like to try this new style of pizza some day, and I wrote to him about that, even though I know I shouldn’t have.
But as much as I dream of seeing him, stepping out of the Book Mausoleum feels like jumping off a skyscraper. And while thoughts of him calm me, I’m still refusing to see him in person.
Servants come in several times a day. Initially, I found their presence awkward, but I was so weak that their help proved invaluable. A maid named Celeste is the most frequent visitor. She brings all my meals, and after a week at the palace, she convinced me that rearranging my quarters is no trouble. As soon as I made the tiniest mention of it to Tristan in a letter, he sent a decorator to ‘help my wishes come true’.
Now, the drab walls have been covered with beautiful tapestries that additionally ward off the cold and hide the skulls and bones of librarians past. The books have been moved to one side of the room, so I have a space I can call mine. I own several new pieces of furniture, and flowers are regularly replaced in large vases, filling my new home with soft fragrance. Suspiciously, every bouquet is arranged to contain a lusciously green herb reminiscent of a fern. It carries the exact scent that’s so prominent on Tristan. Perhaps I should call him out on it. But I don’t want to. This scent makes me feel safe.
The attic remains somewhat eerie, but with the addition of color and soft fabrics, it’s cozy rather than oppressive, like the hut of a hedge witch who came into a bit of money. Courtesy of Tristan, I’ve collected quite a few unicorn-themed trinkets, and I have to say it suits my aesthetic much more than the gloomy gothic style that featured here before. While I don’t have a fireplace, because of the books, as soon as I complained about the green of swamplight, I was provided a powder to put over the torches that makes the light glow blue instead.
Other than growing tomatoes, Prince Sylvan is the castle’s master alchemist, with whom I’ve corresponded about rare potions, which has been a dead end. I did have some hopes about his husband, Hawk, who possesses a rare ability of consuming shadows. If he could eat mine, I’d be free of the attachment to Tristan, but Sabine explained that his magic only works on elves.
Which brought me back to square one.
I still don’t know how to break our bond, and neither I, nor Tristan, nor Sabine have managed to find any truly useful information about finding unicorns yet.
Without a busy job, phones, or the internet, I seem to have more time for pondering everything. Especially in daytime, when I sit with Lady on the carpet and look at the stars through the skylight, wondering whether my bond with Tristan really is now written in them. Or what that might mean in a magical world. If it’s something that physically happens, then how could a unicorn rewrite that? And how has Sohan communicated with one? In his mind? Or does the animal speak? Is it even an animal?
All questions I’ve eventually exchanged with Tristan, yet seeing him and talking to him is a whole different story.
I worry that if I meet him in person, look into his golden eyes, and feel the warmth of his fingers, I will be fooled into the stupid attachment called love.
I don’t believe in this kind of stuff anymore.
I can’t. Not after Gloombane.
He killed all the joy I was ever capable of, and my ability to trust.
And love? Its first blossoms were what put me in that position in the first place.
Even now, with Lady lovingly putting her head in my lap, I feel empty, as if a part of my soul has departed.