Another day, another breakfast. I get the feeling the weather may be about to turn; there’s a generous bowl of porridge this morning, a pot of coffee in addition to the usual orange juice. I wish once again that I could have coffee every day. Halfway through, it starts to rain. Great. This means I …
Every day’s the same. I get out of my beautiful bed with all the fluffy pillows. I attend to my personal toilette. I put on the single dress in the wardrobe. I make my way up to the tower roof to eat the breakfast that will be waiting on the table there. And then, I go …
Something about the new Bower unsettles me. I can’t decide if it’s the unfinished nature of it, my reluctance to rebuild a Land without My King. I fear I shall never be able to recapture the Dance of Gwyneth and Janus. It might be just the seeming immaterial-ness of it all. Is that even a …