Chapter 69 visit

September 1902 Celia.Bowen sat at a table surrounded by stacks of books.Some time ago, her library was out of space.But instead of making the room bigger, she chose to make the book the room.A pile of books functions as a table, and some hang from the ceiling, accompanied by a large golden birdcage with several white pigeons. The other round cage rested on the table instead of hanging in mid-air. Inside the cage was an exquisite clock that ticked steadily throughout the afternoon, marking the dynamics of time and astrology. Large black crows outside their cages sleep next to the complete works of Shakespeare.

Unset candles in silver candlesticks, burning in groups of three, circled the table in the center of the room.On the table is a cup of tea that is cooling down, a scarf that has been partially disassembled into a ball of crimson yarn, a framed photo of the dead clockmaker, a single playing card that has been lost for a long time with the whole deck, and an open booklet filled with Full marks, symbols, and signatures taken from other paper. Celia sat with a note and a pen, trying to decipher the system that wrote the booklet. She imagined the line of thought that Marco might have followed when he wrote, imagined the way he carved each page, tracing with ink the slender branches that meandered throughout the text, and then tried to think in that way herself.

She read each signature over and over again, checking how each lock of hair was firmly attached, examining each symbol in detail. She spent so much time repeating the process that she could almost recreate the entire book from memory, but she still couldn't fully understand how the system worked. The crow moved and croaked at something in the shadows. You have disturbed Hu Geng.Celia said without looking up. Candlelight caught only the edge of her father's silhouette as he loitered nearby.Shows the creases of his jacket, the collar of his shirt, the glint in the wells of his dark eyes.

You should really find someone named Muninn again Odin. The literal meanings of the two are thought and memory.), he looked at the restless crow and said: Let's make a pair. I prefer thoughts to memories, Dad.Celia said. Hum was the only response. He leaned over Celia's shoulders and watched her flip the pages full of calligraphy and paintings, but she ignored him. It was chaotic.He said. The language you don't use yourself is not necessarily utterly confusing.Celia said, copying a line of symbols into her notes. This thing is really messy, constraints and amulets, Hector said, floating to the other side of the table to see it more clearly, it is Alexander's style, overly complicated and obvious.

But anyone can do it if they put in the hard work and study.It's the exact opposite of your old cliché about how special I am. You are very right, your level is higher than this kind of him waving his transparent hand at the stack of books, this method of relying on tools and models to build.There is so much more you can achieve with your talents, so much to explore. Horatio, there are wonders in the universe beyond your philosophical imagination.Celia quoted a passage to him. Please, don't quote Shakespeare. Now that I am haunted by my father's ghost, I suppose I should be entitled to quote Hamlet to my heart's content.Prospero, you used to be quite fond of Shakespeare.

This kind of behavior belittles your ingenuity, and I have higher expectations of you. I apologize for falling short of your ridiculous expectations, Dad.Don't you have anyone else to interrupt? I'm stuck in this state with very few people to talk to.Alexander was boring, as always.Chandrash was funny, but the lad had changed his memory so many times that in the end talking to him wasn't much better than talking to himself, though maybe a change of scenery would be nice too. Will you speak to Chandrash?Celia asked. Occasionally.Hector said, check the clock turning in the cage.

It was you who told Chandrash that Alexander was going to the circus that night, that you sent him. I just give an advice to alcoholics.The drunkard's ears are extremely soft, and he is quite receptive to conversations with the dead. You must know that he can't hurt Alexander a hair.Celia said.That line of reasoning didn't make sense at all, and it wasn't that her father's reasoning always made sense. I mean, a knife in the back would give the old guy a change of taste.His student wanted to do that at all, so strongly that it got into Chandrash's head.Chandrash was exposed to that thought all the time, and that rage crept into subconsciousness over time.I'm just going with the flow.

You clearly mentioned that intervening is against the rules.Celia put down her pen and said. I mean intervene in you or your opponent, his father clarified: I want to intervene in other people's affairs, as I please. Your intervention caused Frederick to be killed! There are other clockmakers, Hector said: If you need extra clocks, you can find a new one. With trembling hands, Celia pulled out a book from Shakespeare's stack and threw it at him violently. As You Like It passed through his chest without a pause, hit the wall behind him and fell to the ground.The crow quacked and puffed up its feathers.The cage that held the pigeons and the clock began to tremble.The glass on the framed photo shattered.

go away, papa.Celia clenched her teeth and said, trying to restrain herself. You can't keep pushing me away.He said. Celia turned her attention to the candles on the table, focusing on a dancing flame. Do you think you have developed a personal relationship with these people?Hector continued: Do you think you mean anything to them?They all died in the end.You let emotion trump strength. You are cowards, Celia said: You are both cowards.You fight by proxy because you are too cowardly to challenge the other directly, for fear of losing, with no one to blame but yourself. certainly not.Hector protested.

I hate you.Celia said, still staring at the candle flame. The shadow of her father shuddered, then faded away. The windows of Marco’s apartment were not frosted, so he used ink to trace the lines of symbols in the shape of the letter A, pressing his blackened finger against the windowpane.Ink dripped down the glass like rain. He sat staring at the door, anxiously twisting the silver ring on his finger, until the knock on the door sounded the next morning. The man in the gray suit didn't admonish Marco because of his call, but just stood in the passage outside the door, with his hands on his crutches, waiting for him to speak.

She thought that for the contest to end, one of us would have to die.Marco said. She was right. The feeling of confirmation was even more miserable than Marco had expected.He'd hoped she'd just misunderstood, but those few simple words wiped out the glimmer of hope he held in his arms. Winning a battle is worse than losing it.He said. I told you that your feelings for Miss Bowen will make your challenges even harder.said the instructor. Why are you doing this to me?Marco asked: Why do you spend so much time training me for this kind of thing? Responding to the previous pause was rather heavy. I thought it would be a better life than you could have otherwise, no matter the consequences. Marco closed and locked the door. The man in the gray suit raised his hand to knock again, but then put it down and walked away.