Ā Ā Ā ONE WOULD THINK MUSEUMS WOULD BE UNBEARABLE FOR HER. thousands of years of history, of hands, of creators and thieves and archivists and - and - and ought to be LOUDĀ beyond belief, but there is something about them that is oddly ... BERABLE. more-so than a crowded street of lives. objectsĀ are easier. they do not tend to shift too rapidly themselves, not like the constant freefall of a human life. OF MOST HUMAN LIVES, of nearly all human lives, of the human lives of people who shift and change day to day.
Ā Ā Ā THOSE WHO STAY STILL ARE JUST AS ... OVERWHELMING. itās not a surprise. it canāt be. circe knew when putting on her rain jacket and picking up her umbrella and beginning the walk from her month-to-month lease apartment ( she doesnāt take the train, even if it would be easier, the sound of breaks and lives and breathing and ending and beginning too much in the enclosed spaceĀ ) to the metropolitan museum of art who she would come across. where they would come across each other. what time of day. SHE STILL WASNāT READY THOUGH. she never is. circe stumbles a little sideways at the onslaught of - - - TERROR, really, body stuck like in amber, kept one way - - - that trails serena carlisle like the wake off a ship.Ā āsorry,ā the word sticks to the back of her throat and she clears it, taking a step back,Ā āsorry.ā WHAT IS SHE APOLOGIZING FOR?Ā what she knows? what serena has seen? stumbling into her? circe bites a lip and backs away another half step, eyes distant, the acrid smell of poison burning her nose.
