When we were small, Rose and I used to play a game called connect the dots. I loved it. I loved drawing a line from dot number 1 to dot number 2 and so on. Most of all, I loved the moment when the chaotic sprinkle of dots resolved itself into a picture. That's what stories do. They connect the random dots of life into a picture. But it's all an illusion. Just try to connect the dots of life. You'll end up with a lunatic scribble.
Franny BillingsleyI am entirely well,โ said Eldric, โwhich has Dr. Rannigan exploring first one theory, then another, trying to understand. But not being a man of science, I donโt care about understanding. I simply want to go outside and break a few windows.
Franny BillingsleyThatโs where proper stories begin, donโt they, when the handsome stranger arrives and everything goes wrong?
Franny BillingsleyBut witchy magic doesnโt listen to please and pretty please, and anyway, I didnโt really care. I only pretended to care because not caring makes me a monster.
Franny BillingsleyI have some questions about betrayal,โ I said. โThink about this: A person who calls you his best friend, and says he has dinner plans with you, goes off with a beautiful woman, saying heโll be back directly, then makes you wait half an hour because heโs kissing the woman in the alley. Is that betrayal?โ โOh, Lord.โ Eldric tossed back his wine.
Franny Billingsley