William descended the stairs with measured delay; he needed time to gather his thoughts. More importantly, he had to decide on the best way to convince his grandmother that what he was saying was the absolute truth. After ten minutes of careful consideration and planning, he was about as ready as he'd ever be.
Taking a chance here...making a few assumptions I'd toto wish I could test better first. Might end up looking like a cray person when I make the demonstration, but I know I can figure something out. One way or the other.
He found Rachel already awake in the kitchen, dressed in her nightgown and putting the finishing touches on a simple breakfast of toast and eggs. She smiled kindly at him as he walked in, and pushed a plateful onto the small island in the center of the room.
"Hey, there's my history professor-in-training." She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Morning. Did you sleep well?" She paused, and then smirked. "Or did you sleep at all?" Her eyes darted down to the journal in his hands.
"Ohm-gee, is that it?" she asked, with a rising note of excitement in her voice. "Can I see? Is it safe to read? Shouldn't you be wearing - I don't know - gloves or carrying it around in a sealed box?" She blushed "Sorry, I shouldn't be telling you how to do your work, I'm just very excited!"
Slowly breathing in through his nose, William held it up and said, "It's in surprisingly good condition, given it's age. Better than you might imagine. And yes, you can read it, you totally should. It's just…" He paused, weighing his next few words judiciously before continuing. "I want you to understand, it's toto important that you believe what's in this journal. That it's real, that it all actually happened."
Rachel blinked, obviously not sure where this was going. "William, this is my mother we're talking about. What possible reason would I have not to believe her own written words? Especially in something as private and intimate as her journal?"
He chuckled a couple times and said, "I know. I know you say that, buuuut…" he glanced around stalling for time, as he tried to figure out where to start. His eyes alit on one of the kitchen cabinets. "Tell you what. I need you to go and pull a glass out. Something plain, something no one had any sentimental attachment to, or fondness for."
Rachel cracked a lopsided smile, "Wait. Is this...magic? Is this what you've been taking up in your spare time?" She laughed liltingly and added, "Do you need a deck of playing cards or something? I'm sure I can get the replicator to spit something out in a hurry."
William blinked, cursing himself for not having realized how much better that idea was. "A deck of cards? No. But a drinking tumbler, yeah. Toto aff. Let's do that. The cleaner and newer, the better."
Rachel gave him a skeptical side-eye glance, as she walked over to the kitchen replicator and quickly programmed the parameters for a simple eight ounce drinking vessel. She attempted to add a few artistic embellishments to it, but William quickly stopped her.
"No. This has to be - uh - a tabula rasa. 'Hellza basic', I think is what you oldbies used to say, right?" He smirked, holding up his hands in defense as Rachel playfully smacked his shoulder. A couple minutes later, the fabrication was complete, and she pulled the glass out from the object printer.
"This better be good, young man." she warned, albeit softening her words with a smile.
He nodded rapidly and said, "Okay. Here's the crazy part. I need you to hold it. Focus on the glass. And while you're doing that, I need you to think of a number - ah - say any number between one and one-thousand. Oh! And a color. Anything you like. So there's no way you can say I led you or did some sort of - damnit! What's the term?" He snapped his fingers in frustration, before his weblink helpfully offered a suggestion.
"Cold reading. Yeah." He stared at his grandmother expectantly, before motioning with his hands. "Well...go on. Do that for about a minute, that'll probably be long enough."
I hope.
Rachel gave a dramatic roll of her eyes and muttered, "I have no idea what the payoff or punchline is going to be. You kids these days." Regardless, she turned and narrowed her eyes, staring intently into the clear, strong plastic in her hands. Precisely sixty seconds later, she handed it back, and in a bemused tone said, "Oooookay. Bejazzle me, oh pota mine." She crossed her arms and waited.
William swallowed, hoping that his hunch proved right, that any object could pick up impressions and memories, and that especially fresh and new items would be particularly well suited to the task. In his haste, he hadn't thought to test his theory ahead of time, so motivated was he to bring his grandmother past the curtain, to expose her to the same revelations he'd made overnight. He took a deep breath and mentally 'read' the cup, hoping against hope he wouldn't end up looking like a complete ass.
He let out a soft sigh of relief: it was there. Soft, kind of echoy. Tinny. Like a copy of a copy of a copy of an ancient magnetic audio tape. A triumphant grin broke out across his lips.
"Six-sixty-six? Oh hah hah, toto-droll. And ultraviolet? Gleesh, nani, you're in a mood. Literally, I can feel that much, the skepticism, you wondering what the scam is going to be. Good choices though, clever. You picked answers that were super unlikely to be guessed by anyone.
Whatever expression of playful, cynical indulgence Rachel wore vanished in a heartbeat.
"O-okay. Cute. Good trick. Yes, I'm impressed. So how the hell did you do that?"
He closed his eyes and then calmly replied, "Psychometrics. Literally: I read the faint memory impressions you left on this thing. With my mind"
He could see the expletive starting to form on her lips before she thought better of it. Instead, she gave a snort of laughter and said, "Yes. Ha ha! You pulled a good one on your old grandmother. For real, though; how did you do it? I promise I won't tell anyone else, but this is starting to creep me out. You know, just a little bit."
With an almost-deathly calm, he explained, "I'm absolutely serious. I don't know what happened to me, but somehow, picking this journal up and starting to read through it unlocked...I don't know what you would call it. Something, some power - some ability. And it's not just me. She could do it, too...Max, I mean. Kinda. It was different for her, but it was still a power!" He winced, hearing the increasingly frantic note in his voice.
Goddess Above, I sound like such a crazy person right now.
Rachel stared at him, saying nothing for a few seconds, before tilting her head, and asking, "Oh. Em. Gee. William Avinash Price, did you hack into my weblink?!"
He was immediately horrified at the accusation. "What? No!"
"Because I'll forgive it this once. It was worth it for the joke, but seriously, don't ever - "
"Nani! I didn't listen in on your thoughts that way! First off, hey, it's impossible because of all the quantum encryption they use for these things...second, so supa-skeezy! I would never do that to you, or anyone, even if I could!" He was genuinely hurt for a moment, but let it pass, chalking the reaction up to his grandmother's shock.
She held up a hand in ascent, a genuine expression of regret settling over her face. "Yes. Right, I'm...sorry, kiddo. You're right, that was a low blow. But you have to admit, at the moment, you're spouting crazy nonsense here"
"Yeah. I am. You're right. But that doesn't mean it's not all true." He rubbed his thumb against his fist in frustration, then quickly said, "Look, easy test. Set your weblink to offline mode. Totally cut it off from any network. Make any object you want in the replicator. Put any memory you want on it. I'll go wait in the other room. That way, you can't say I somehow led you to think of something specific, or tapped into your brain, or...or whatever. If you do all that, and I can still tell you what you were thinking of, will you believe me?"
Blinking a few times, Rachel said, "I...just. William, maybe we should take you to…"
"Please! Just this one thing. And then read parnani's journal. If you wanna take me to a psych clinic or something after all that, then fine. I'll go willingly, because I'm still not convinced I'm not crazy."
He paced outside in the front yard, waiting for the better part of fifteen minutes before his grandmother finally called him back. When he returned, he found her holding something out to him. In one outstretched hand was a heavy-looking plastic orb, about the size of a baseball: a three dimensional map of the planet Venus. He reached out and took it, as she said, "I can't believe I'm actually going along with this. Probably because I figure there's no way you can just randomly guess what I was thinking of right after I made this thing, and when you finally admit you have no idea, we can…" she swallowed, and continued, "You'll either tell me how you did this trick or…"
She clearly didn't want to contemplate the alternative.
He smiled confidently, cradling the globe in both hands, easily getting a reading from it. The impression was strong, though the memory itself was far from fresh - it had the feeling of something that was being recalled from a long while back, and William let himself marvel for a few moments at how different that felt, compared to a memory placed on an item as events were occurring…
She saunters down the hall, towards Sandeep's apartment. To see him in person, for the first time in three years.
'It's just lunch' she thinks to herself. 'Just an old ex-boyfriend making a connection again. It's not like we parted on bad terms. We just grew apart during college.'
Besides, she's already dating someone - another woman, thank you very much. Her Dad was absolutely insufferable when she first told her the news. True, she and Jessica had been a couple for about three or four months, but things were starting to heat up. Already, there was talk between them, of moving in together.
God knows, in San Francisco, it would make living there so much more affordable!
There's a part of her that wonders if it's moving too fast, though. She's pretty sure it's not, but at the same time she can't help but wonder: why the hesitancy?
'It's not because Sandy and I started talking again.' she tells herself.
It was nothing more than a chance encounter online, a meeting in an artist's discussion group. It shouldn't have been so surprising, given their backgrounds growing up as children of known talent. Afterwards, they'd fallen back into an easy, almost daily discussion routine...and why not? It wasn't like things got weird between them, not really. It didn't keep him from working for her Dad as a campaign manager.
They'd just drifted apart; nothing more than that. Happens all the time in real life. Just because her parents were old childhood sweethearts didn't mean it was ever going to happen to her. Hell, It hardly happened to anyone anymore, right?
'So why did you bother dressing up? And putting a little more effort into your makeup than usual?' a soft voice chides in the back of her mind.
She was just showing off...wanted Sandy to see she was doing well for herself. That's all.
Nothing else.
So why is her heart beating faster than usual as she pushes the button to his door chime?
The door slides automatically slides open, barely three seconds later. She tries not to imagine that he was standing there for God knows how long, waiting for her arrival. He's leaning against the wall, trying to look casual, but she knows him too well - quickly realizes it's nothing more than a hasty affectation.
He looks good. He's filled out since high school graduation. Clearly taking good care of himself, hitting the gym. The glasses are almost overly pretentious as an affectation, because who actually needs that sort of thing anymore? But that was one of the things she always...loved….about him.
They look at each other in the flesh, for the first time since the start of sophomore year in college, each wearing the same wide, goofy smile.
"Hi." she breathily says.
"H-hey" he replies.
She's not ready to admit it to herself yet, right there and then, but she knows she's not going to be moving in with Jessica after all.
William opened his eyes, smiling with satisfaction, as he handed the globe back to his grandmother. "It took a good week before you finally broke it off with - uh - whoever Jessica was. It was pretty messy as breakups go, and you felt toto guilty about everything. She never spoke to you again, after she found out the why from someone else. You deeply regretted how you handled that situation, but you also accepted that the heart wants what it wants. And that you were kinda young and dumb at the time." He paused, before adding, "Oh, that was sweet, by the way, making a model of the planet Venus. I wasn't sure if that was a subconscious decision at first, but since it was a love story - nice metaphor."
Rachel was stunned speechless, her jaw falling open. William took the opening to place the journal in his grandmother's other hand and softly said, "Read it. All of it. I hope you believe me now, when I tell you it's all true. I'm going to be in the guest bedroom; I need to fake being sick today for my advisor, and then I need a nap. We can talk afterwards."
As he turned to walk away, he could already hear the whispy sound of paper pages being rifled through.
By the time William returned to the kitchen, three hours had passed. He found his grandmother sitting at the breakfast island, forehead propped against her hand. Her eyes were clearly puffy from crying, and there was a bottle of scotch in front of her, along with a half-full tumbler.
He slid over to the other side, sitting down in front of her on one of the high stools, and asked with tender concern, "Kinda early in the day for the ee-toh, isn't it?"
Slowly, she looked up at him, then grabbed the bottle, poured a second tumbler full of amber liquid, and pushed it towards him. "It's only too early if I'm drinking alone, kiddo. So do your poor grandmother a favor." Nodding once, he took a sip along with her, bitterly wincing as it burned down his throat; he'd never managed to acquire a taste for alcohol, at least not for drinks where its presence was overwhelmingly obvious.
"So other than the drinking, how are you holding up? I mean...do you believe it? That it all actually happened?"
She reached out, took his hand, and squeezed tightly, before softly rasping out, "Yeah. God help me, I do. But I don't want to. Part of my brain is still screaming out that there was something wrong with Mom this whole time. That she was delusional, or...I don't know what. But that was never her, pota. Not crazy. That so wasn't her. She was one of the most stable people I ever knew in my life - ah, I wish you could have known her!" she mourned, her voice heavy and wet with emotion.
"I kinda got that chance." he whispered out with a sad smile. It took Rachel a few moments to catch on to his meaning before she continued speaking.
"She was such a rock. Always the more serious of my parents, the grounded one." Punctuating her points by stabbing her finger against the countertop, she said, "There's no way, none whatsoever, that she'd make anything like this up, intentionally or otherwise. And I just…." she reached up to wipe away a fresh wave of tears from her eyes. "It explains so much! About her, about why she was the person she was. The million little questions I had about her, that never got answered until now. The way she'd get so quiet and sad, without fail, each and every October. Why she was so strict with me. Why she was so hard on herself with her photography. It was like she felt she had to be the best she could, or it was some sort of terrible waste. I think there was a part of her that wanted to fiercely protect me...that was...how do I explain this? She wanted to make sure I didn't end up like her."
William blinked. "You mean, she was afraid you might inherit what she had? The powers…"
Rachel nodded emphatically. She gave a soft slap against the countertop with her outstretched palm and said, "Exactly! I never understood why, I just thought she was 'Strict Mom' all through my childhood. My Grandpa Ryan once told me in private that he couldn't understand how his 'little girl' became so over-protective, so controlling. But I understand it all now. And I think that's the only reason I believe everything in this journal of hers. Because suddenly, everything else about my relationship with her is crystal clear!
Rachel closed her eyes tight, giving a single sob, sniffed hard, and rubbed her nose and eyes with a tissue. "And I remember now, that Dad said something to me, the day she died! That she had more days in life than she deserved. Then she said she was going to tell me an important story about her and Mom - back when they were young. She obvious never got the chance, but it must have been about all this!"
She paused, grabbed the tumbler, and swirled the whiskey around it for a moment before draining it in down in one gulp, barely wincing. "But oh...oh Mom…" she swallowed back against the tears, and looked up towards the ceiling, gesturing with one hand. "I wish she would have told me, Will." Her composure began to break as she explained, "I mean, I understand how hard it would have been, why she maybe wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. Especially after I read the letter she left me."
William froze, an expression of confusion contorting his face. "Letter? Wait, what letter? You mean like, something loose inside?"
"Yes., Here." Rachel pushed a single sheet of plastic writing paper, of the kind that was in common use since the mid to late twenty-first century, towards him. "I found it stuck to the back cover."
He picked it up, immediately recognizing the handwriting that was now so familiar to him, and read:
My dearest daughter,
If you're reading this, it means I've finally passed. I don't think it'll be much longer; maybe a few days, maybe weeks. Maybe even tomorrow. You already know I'm dying - the heart replacement surgery might work, but the doctors tell me there's a better than fifty-fifty chance I won't survive the operation. So what's the point? I've had a good, long life. Better than I deserved.
I'm leaving you my journals: all of them, but this one most of all. You'll probably find the story of what happened to Arcadia Bay impossible to believe, but it happened. All of it. Just the way I wrote it. It's funny, I haven't read through this thing in almost fifty years - it's held up better than I would have expected - but all those memories are coming back to me now, like it was yesterday.
So many times, I almost broke down and told you. Do you remember when you were eighteen, the first time you came back home from college for a visit? You finally asked me why it was that I got so sad in October. You told me you thought it was more than just the reminder of what happened to the old town. I came so close to finally telling you to truth, right then and there. But I was so frightened, Rachel; frightened that you wouldn't believe me. Or worse yet, that you would. And how could you live with the truth, with what I've done? With the guilt I've carried, all these years. All the people who died, because of what I did?
Or failed to do.
I've made peace with it as best as I could - mostly. Over the years, your father has been such a source of strength and comfort, and above all else, optimism. She never let herself believe that damn tornado was anything other than a tragic but ultimately beneficial event. That it made Arcadia Bay stronger, better. She was ready to die that night, but when she realized she was going to live, she grabbed her life with both hands, and turned it into something incredible.
A testiment. A triumph.
But she doesn't know the truth. Not all of it. Not the way you do now.
For years, I replayed that terrible moment of weakness in my mind. And I kept coming back to the same conclusion; I was looking for a reason to fail. Maybe I didn't think about it consciously, make a plan, but it seems blindingly obvious in retrospect. I couldn't go through with it, even though I came so damn close! So when the opportunity came, I let that picture go. And too many people suffered for that.
But as I sit here, near the end of my life, I finally realize something: I'd do it all over again. Not just for my love of your father...but for my love of you as well. Because we never would've had you, if I'd done what she asked me to, that night. And the day Chloe agreed to start a family with me was the happiest of my life - other than the day you were born, of course.
I know I could be tough - so demanding. There were times you must have hated me when you were growing up. I think it was because I was frightened for you. That what happened to me was somehow genetic, that you'd have to face your own terrible decision, just as I was forced to. And I wanted you strong, Rachel. If that day ever came, I wanted you self-reliant, bright-eyed and clear minded. I wanted you to make the tough choices without fear or regret.
I wanted you to be better than me.
Oh my baby girl, my pride and joy. You have no idea how happy you made me, each and every day. And I am so relieved to see that so far, my curse has passed you over; if there is a price for me to pay, if the universe still plans to take vengeance for what I've done, it's clear now that the penance will be mine and mine alone to endure.
I'm not sure I have the strength to tell Chloe the truth, before I die. I'm trying to gather the strength - you'd think after sixty-five years of marriage, I'd have no doubts. That she'd still love me, no matter what, but I can't bear the thought of her turning away from me at the end, in shame and disgust. So I wrote this letter as an insurance policy of sorts. Rachel, I need you to tell her for me. Either your father will already know, or...she'll know through you. She deserves to. Just as you deserved to.
She's going to need you more than ever. I say it kindly, but I'm afraid that when I'm gone, Chloe is going to be totally lost without me. At least for a little while. But I know she'll get through it, with your love and support. Yours, and your family's.
Have a wonderful rest of your life. I don't know what's going to happen after I die, but I'd like to think I'll keep watching over you from somewhere.
All my love,
Your Mother.
"Dad", Rachel said, her voice on the edge of heartbreak as she pointed to the letter. "How could you keep me from seeing that?"
William took a long, shaky inhalation, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he handed the letter back. Softly, he said, "I...I'm really sure. Certain. There wasn't a letter there, when I first read the journal."
Rachel took a long look at him, before answering, "You must have missed it, pota. That's all." The tone of her voice suggested she wasn't up for considering the possibility that he was right.
She folded the letter up, put it in her pocket, and then reached out for his hands. "William. You said you had a power. You showed me some of it. What you can do...is it anything like what my mother could?"
He shook his head emphatically. "You mean rewinding time, and going backwards through pictures? No...no way! Toto neg!" He clenched down on the knot in his stomach, as he intentionally left out what happened in the penultimate entry of the journal; his suspicions that somehow, he'd reached out across the yawning chasm of the years, and pushed his great-grandmother down the path that ensured his existence. That he'd changed the course of history.
There were a million questions still unasked on her lips, but all Rachel said next was, "I'm worried. I'm worried about you, and for you, kiddo." She walked over, encircling him tightly in her arms. "Hell, I'm downright scared now! What could it mean? Why? I don't understand the meaning behind any of this!"
William closed his eyes and hugged back. He knew he comprehended better than she did, but he couldn't bear the thought of doing anything but setting her mind at ease.
"I don't know either, nani. But something tells me that there aren't any tornadoes in my future. No horrible choices, no universe breaking into a million crazy pieces around me. But - uh - but if the day comes, I'm sure I'll make the right decision. Do the right thing. Because I've had the best examples growing up, yeah?"
Rachel narrowed her eyes, smiling with a terrible sadness.
"Oh William. My poor boy. What the hell do we do now?"
He shrugged. "Don't know. Doesn't seem like we ought to tell anyone else though? Do you think? This feels...this feels like Price-Caulfield family business, and I guess in a way, it's just the two of us left."
She nodded, quickly muttering, "I'm sure-as-hell not about to tell Sandy, or your mother, or your aunt." before looking back towards the journal. "Part of me feels like we ought to burn that damn book. Let the secret die out with me and you, once and for all."
"Whoayeah...I don't think that's such a good idea! I mean, whatever it is, it's clearly not 'of this world' anymore. A journal that doesn't age? That was waiting all this time to be found?"
"I know." Rachel said. "Oh believe me, I know." She reached over, and held the book out to him. "I'd like to keep the letter, but otherwise? I think this belongs to you now, if you'll have it."
William allowed her to place it in his hands, and gave a heavy sigh. Part of him never wanted to see the wretched thing again. But another, larger part suddenly realized he couldn't bear the thought of never seeing it again. Even if the journal spent another eighty years locked up in a box somewhere, waiting for the next generation to discover it, he couldn't shake the notion that it, and the tremendous, impossible secret it contained was a legacy that would continue to shape his family line for generations to come.
Resting a hand on his shoulder, Rachel asked, "What are you going to do from here, pota? Whatever your life was up until this moment? It must see so small and mundane, now. I know that's how I'd be feeling if I were in your shoes. Whatever you do, whatever you want - need - just know that your grandfather and I will support you, in whatever way we can. If you need to take time off from school, if you need money to live while you get your head on straight, you don't have to worry about it."
He looked over to her, smiled warmly, and placed his hand over her own. "Thanks. But...ah yeah. Believe it or not 'small and mundane' sounds ultra-on-top at the moment. Going back and pretending none of this happened, at least for a while? It'd be good. So...so that's what I'm gonna do." He puffed up his chest, straightened up and continued, "Gonna catalogue all those items up in the attic, just like I came here to do. And spend as much time as I can with you, and maybe we can wander around the city, and you can tell me all the stories you remember about growing up here. And maybe, I can even discover some stories that no one ever knew before." He tossed her a playful wink at this.
He rose up from his chair and stared down at the book in his hands. He could still feel the soft yet insistent hum of emotion and memory resonating from deep within. "And then, when winter break is over, I'll go back to school, and be the most amazing student of antiquities DIAS has ever seen." He started to walk away, pausing by the window near the entrance to the kitchen. He smiled to himself, and said, "But I think before I go back to Switzerland, I'm gonna stop over in Reykjavik for a day. There's someone there that I definitely want to have coffee with."
He gave the book in his hands an oddly affectionate squeeze, and murmured to himself, "Let's find somewhere to hide you away, you fucking troublemaker. At least for a while." With that, he finally walked on.
As William walked past the kitchen window, he completely failed to notice the blue morpho butterfly clinging to the glass from the outside. It gave a few flaps of its wings before flying off into the clear and sunny skies.
THE END
A/N: Hey there folks. Despite the big ol' "THE END", this is not the final chapter! Stick around, I'm planning on a brief interlude for chapter 9, shedding light on a critical moment in Williams life a few years later, along with an epilogue for chapter 10 that will finally shed some light on Young Master Price's ultimate destiny. I've got a little surprise cooked up for that one, I hope you enjoy it.
So a few quick shoutouts: First, as always, to good buddy LonesomeBard, who not only made the really awesome avatar pic of Camilla Davies from Black Swan (although I'm eventually going back to the Max Payne inspired one he did, as that is my favorite piece of work he's done to date) but also provided critical beta reading help. This was an odd chapter for me: it came out shorter and much more different than I was expecting, with a lot of on-the-fly changes - like, that last paragraph was literally added about five minutes before I hit the publish button - and I really needed an external gut check; he did a really great job with that. Kiitos, my friend!
Second, to TomorrowHeart, who most of you know as the author of Ouroboros; having already surpassed Black Swan in follows and faves, they are about to take the crown for "Most Reviewed LiS Story", so I'm officially handing off the tiara to them, just as RowanRed81 did for me when Black Swan became "Longest LiS Story". They're a really lovely, awesome-type person, and I've had a wonderful time getting to know them better...reminds me, I still need to respond to that last email. I haven't had a chance to read Ouroboros, just as I've had little chance to read much of anything, but I hope to someday, given how excellent folks tell me it is.
Which brings me to a bittersweet announcement: Though nothing is ever written in stone, I suspect that once BWTT is finished...I will be more or less done with writing fics. At least for a good long while. It has been an amazing, transformative experience, something that has brought the most fantastic of people into my life, pushed me to work past my self-doubt, my creative boundaries, and convinced me that goals I've previously thought as impossible are always obtainable with enough hard work and discipline. Luck doesn't hurt, but you can't sit around waiting for it.
A lot has changed since my free-wheeling creative days of 2015, when inspiration would drive me to total distraction, and I was absolutely, hopelessly in love with Life is Strange, its characters, its world, its style and heart. But most importantly of all, the community that swiftly gelled around this remarkable work.
But alas, my muse has left me, and while I'm sure the creative urge will strike me once again, I just don't know how, or when. Honestly, when I wrapped up Once More Unto The Breach in late 2014, I assumed that was it, that I was done with writing, not knowing or even suspecting that my greatest time of productive output was yet to come. But the truth is that 2017 has been very difficult for me. Putting aside the destruction of political norms and public decorum and human decency taking place in my country, I've been going through a lot of personal shit: with my marriage, with my job, with my gender dysphoria. After receiving some personal inspiration and solid, concrete advice from Commander Shepard herself, Jennifer Hale, at ComiCon earlier this month, I'm going to take some of the suggestions she made, and work towards making some significant life changes in 2018. To do it right, I don't think it will leave me much time for writing - thus the semi-retirement.
I'll be around, don't you worry. You know me, I love meeting people. I love responding to messages, I love thanking folks for taking the time to read, and having folks talk to me about their ideas. Old Lady Lyta will be here, just...quiet for a while.
Have a great one, kids.
