Blackwater Islands beg that I succeed

His sigh was the ringing disappointment of a teacher whose students did not understand the lesson. Pelagius tipped his head back straight, lids lowering half over his eyes as he tutted gently to the question and to the memory.

Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. A few more tuts and a gentle tisk. Mother hummed inside his skull.

She was oh so not herself by the end of it, dearest mother. When I came to her, her mind was fractured, slipping away, away, awaaaay. She did not love them because she could no longer see. Lazy smile, hum of beetle wings, as many as a summer night’s cicada screams.

Unlike we. A buzz, frantic against the squelch of meat.

Mother is with us now. With me. Do you hear her, Ptolemy? Do you hear the choir?