Glen St. Mary, Canada
June 2016
New dreams, maybe better dreams
With the sound of bagpipes serenading me, I roll out of bed and hurry to get myself into a presentable state. Of course, Ken has seen me in all possible states of dishevelledness, but if we're honest, bedhead is never as cute in real life as it's in movies and I don't want to look a total wreck when I go downstairs to meet him.
Picking up yesterday's dress from the clothes chair, I give it a sniff and decide it will do, before throwing it on with a clean pair of panties beneath. Due to time constraints, I don't bother with makeup, but brushing teeth and hair is non-negotiable. I do so in record time and when I check my final appearance in the mirror a mere five minutes later, I deem it to be acceptable at least.
Briefly, I look under the bed to check on George, but only see two round eyes shining back at me. He doesn't seem to trust that the coast is clear, despite the bagpipes having stopped playing, so I decide to leave him be. He will venture out in his own time.
Leaving the room, I rush down the stairs, my bare feet barely making any sound. Even so, I slow down and start tiptoeing when I am near the front door, without really being able to say why. As always, the key is stuck in the door (normally, people don't lock their doors in Glen, but having lived on my own in New York and London, habit dictates that I keep all doors locked) and I turn it very quietly.
Ken is out on the veranda, sitting on the wrought iron bench, the bagpipe lying next to him.
For a few moments, I just watch him, drinking in his sight and revelling in the fact that he is here, at last. He looks nervous, but not as strained as he did when I was in London. I can't quite put my finger on it, but with one look at him, I know that he is better and my heart feels lighter for it.
"I don't know who gave you bagpipe lessons," I remark casually as I step out in the veranda, "but if I were you, I'd ask for my money back."
Upon hearing my voice, Ken jumps, but quickly has himself under control again. I can see him take a deep breath, before he replies, "I'm not that bad!"
"Yes, you are," I tease him, coming closer. "Your playing is atrocious and I just hope that Romeo was any better. Otherwise, I don't see why Juliet would have given him the time of the day."
"Well, you came down, so…" Ken trails off pointedly.
"Touché." Grinning, I plop down on the bench next to Ken and pick up the bagpipe.
Examining it, I ask, "How does this thing even work?"
"I would have explained it to you, but then you made fun of my playing, so I'm afraid I can't do it now," Ken deadpans.
I briefly raise my head to roll my eyes at him before blowing experimentally into one of the pipes. The sound that comes out is akin to nails scratching over a blackboard and I immediately drop the bagpipe to the floor as if burned.
Ken laughs. "Clearly, you're a natural."
Raising my chin, I inform him primly, "And here I was considering inviting you inside."
"I'm okay out here," Ken replies easily. "This bench is surprisingly comfortable."
"No, it's not," I correct. "Nan picked it out for the way it looks and Mum never had the heart to tell her that all that wrought iron makes it very uncomfortable to sit on."
"I can't deny that," Ken admits, grinning. "I actually think it might have left permanent marks on my back by now."
I get on my feet and stretch out a hand towards him. "Come on then. Plenty of comfortable sofas inside."
Ken grabs my hand and I can't help noticing that his feels dry and warm and just right as our fingers intertwine. He picks up the bagpipe in passing as he follows me inside the house and I don't know what does it – maybe it's the simple thing of his skin against mine – but the moment the door falls shut behind us, I turn quickly, tug him towards me and reach up to press my lips to his.
It's a short kiss, but I leave no doubt that I don't mean for it to be just a friendly one. Yet, when I pull back again, my bravado leaves me in an instant and I lower my head, leaning my forehead against his shoulder, not quite daring to look at him.
"Was that alright?" I ask quietly, as I breathe in the scent of him and my fingers curl and uncurl around the lapels of his shirt.
Ken gently tips my chin up, so that I look directly into his eyes. "You," he announces, "ask the most ridiculous questions."
And then he kisses me and the kiss is neither friendly nor short. It leaves me breathless and tingling and when, aeons later, our lips part again, there's just one thought going through my mind.
So this is where I belong then.
The irony, of course, isn't lost on me. I flew halfway around the world – several times – to find my place, because I couldn't see that I had found it all along. Or maybe… maybe it needed all those travels and all those months for me to understand that this place I had found truly is enough.
"Was that alright?" asks Ken carefully, letting his fingertips ghost over my face as his other arm holds me close.
"More than alright," I assure him. Impulsively, I wrap both arms around his neck and draw him into a tight hug, burrowing my face against his shoulder and holding him as close as I can.
Ken responds in kind, his arm around my waist pulling me towards him as he brushes his free hand through my hair, resting his forehead against my temple. "I love you," he murmurs, so quietly I can barely hear him. "I love you and I missed you and I wish I could tell you what it feels like to be able to hold you again, but I don't think I have the words."
"You don't need words," I whisper back. "I understand." I take a deep breath, revelling in his comforting, familiar scent. "I understand."
I feel him kiss my temple and lightly stroke his neck in response. We don't speak after that, just stand there, in the middle on the hall, leaning on each other and communicating without a sound.
That is, we do until –
"Meow!"
We part just enough so I can look over my shoulder at George, who is sitting on the second lowest step of the stairs and looks at us as disdainfully as only a cat can.
"Meow!" he stresses.
I look back at Ken and see the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. A second passes, before we both burst out laughing as if on cue.
"He wants breakfast," I inform Ken through laughs. "He wasn't a fan of the bagpipes either."
"Poor George," Ken commiserates. "To be woken by my playing and being denied food!"
I shrug. "He lives a hard life."
"Meow!" George agrees and jumps down the final two steps without letting Ken or me out of his sight. He might be displeased with us, but if we were to spontaneously disappear, there'd be no two-thumbed individual able to open food cans and that is enough to overcome any irritation he might feel.
With great reluctance, I step out of Ken's embrace and from the hesitant way he lets go of me, I know he regrets it as much as I do. Alas, the cat is hungry, so the cat will be fed. Thus are the rules of the universe.
"Come on, Georgie." I cluck my tongue encouragingly. "Let's go find breakfast."
George doesn't need to be told twice. In a flash, he's reached the kitchen door and butts his head against it when it doesn't open magically upon his approach.
Grabbing Ken's hand, I pull him with me to the kitchen. "Are you hungry, too?" I ask him, looking briefly over my shoulder. "I'm afraid with just me here, the best I can do is muesli with fruit and yoghurt though."
"That sounds like the safe option anyway," Ken teases.
I roll my eyes at him. "Aren't you a right little jokester?"
"I know." Ken nods earnestly. "I think I should tour."
"I wouldn't give up the day job just yet," I deadpan as I open the kitchen door. George immediately races through it like an orange flash.
Ken just grins at me and, moments later, pulls me towards himself for a quick but very expressive kiss. Of course, such cheek cannot be accepted, so I literally have no choice but to put him to work cutting up fruit. To his credit, he does so cheerfully while I finally feed a half-starved George
"I trust that the book I sent reached you fine?" Ken enquires curiously as he pits a peach.
"It did and I read it," I confirm while poking at the buttons of the coffee maker to provoke it into action. "It's been ages since I last read Romeo and Juliet and it reminded me once more than Romeo is a dunce."
He laughs. "You judge him harshly."
"As he deserves," I point out. "He's a useless specimen and doesn't deserve to have Juliet die because of him."
"A useless specimen?" Ken repeats, doing nothing to hide his amusement.
"Supremely useless!" I emphasise. "But for all that, I must admit that I enjoyed the change of setting. All those kilts and sword fights were very Outlander, of course. It added some much needed zest, I think. Baz Luhrmann really has nothing on you."
Ken frowns in confusion. "Baz who?"
"Never mind." I shake my head, hiding a grin. When it comes to pop culture of the nineties and noughties, he's always adorably lost. "I'm merely saying your reworking of the story was very effective."
"We always did pride ourselves on being decent writers in my family," he tells me, puffing out his chest for comedic effect.
"So I know," I confirm. "You're a right chip of the old block, aren't you?"
After all, Owen's idea of a relaxing evening off is to delve headfirst into whatever history-and-writing project he's working on at the time. The tourists will never know it, but he wrote all the official guide books about royal palaces and collections. He's also published several books under different pseudonyms, his most successful alter ego being the unfortunately named Selwyn Ford, who is very publicity-shy but has written what are considered to be the ultimate biographies about some lesser known royal figures of the past.
"I try to be," Ken replies and though he's still smiling, a note of earnestness has crept into his voice.
Standing on my tiptoes, I brush my lips over his cheek, trying to comfort him. Immediately, he relaxes, his smile as bright as before.
Collecting the last of the fruit from him, I distribute it evenly between two bowls half-filled with muesli before adding generous dollops of yoghurt on top. The coffeemaker has helpfully spewed two cups of caffeinated beverage in the meantime and I place them on a tray with the muesli bowls.
"Come on, let's take this to the living room." I nudge the tray towards Ken, who picks it up obligingly. Seeing that George has licked his bowl clean, I move to open the backdoor leading to the garden, which my cat takes as his cue to disappear on adventures unknown. He slips through my legs and out the door before I can even open it more than a fraction.
Cats.
Closing the back door again, I lead Ken to the living room and gesture for him to put the tray down on a low coffee table. He does so, but instead of sitting down on one of the sofas, he turns around to take one of my hands, his expression suddenly very, very serious.
One look into his eyes and I know.
Gently, I put a finger to his lips. "Don't."
Confusion flashes across his face and something that looks like hurt. "Don't?" he repeats, his lips moving beneath my finger.
"Don't ask me what you mean to ask me," I reply carefully, lowering my finger again. "If you do, I'll have to say No and what kind of start that would be to our second chance?"
The moment the words have left my mouth, I feel him draw back, emotionally and physically. Almost by instinct, I grip his hand tighter, refusing to let go.
"Please, stay with me," I implore him. "Sit down and I will explain and I hope – no, I think it will be okay."
Anxiously, I watch as he considers my request. Finally, I see resignation flash across his features as he sits down on the sofa. "Alright, explain." But his voice doesn't sound like he expects much from me.
I sit down next to him, refusing to let go of his hand, as if that connection can be enough to hold us together. I always knew we'd have to have this talk, but I hoped not to be having it so soon (and on an empty stomach). Alas we're here now and there's no going back.
I need to get this right.
"First of all, let me make it clear once and for all that I love you," I begin and as far as starts go, I don't think it's the worst possible one.
Ken, however, just looks at me, silently and warily, and I can't even blame him. Love wasn't enough to pull us through the last time either.
"When I said I'd say No, I didn't mean it will always be a No," I continue bravely, despite my heart going twice as fast. "I just… look, why do you think we broke up last year?"
My question seems to confuse Ken, because for a moment, he just blinks at me. Then, he shakes his head as if to clear it and answers, "Because we were both of us separately looking for something more meaningful to do and we didn't know how to find it in the life we had."
That, in turn, throws me, not because it's wrong but because it wasn't the answer I was going for.
"That… that is right," I admit as I try to adjust to this change of direction. "It also sounds like something from a self-help book though," I quip, hoping to lighten the situation somewhat. "Have you been reading self-help books on the sly?"
Thankfully, Ken reacts with a slight smile and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. "Let's just say Tatty and Mark grew rather desperate with me after you left. They tried all kinds of things to cheer me up and yes, self-help books featured. Tatty also made me watch cheesy movies and Mark took me on a men's trip to Yorkshire one weekend. It was freezing cold and rained the entire time."
"I… I'm sorry to hear that," I quickly assure, though without knowing whether I mean the fact that he struggled so after I left or that the rain ruined their trip.
Ken just shrugs, clearly not interested in discussing the matter further.
It looks like the ball is in my court again, as they say.
Taking a deep breath, I carry on, "We did both try to find something new, but that wasn't why we broke up, or at least it wasn't just that. We broke up because we had problems that ran deeper."
Pausing briefly, I look at Ken to find him nodding slightly, agreeing to my point.
"We didn't communicate properly and we didn't put each other first," I continue, slightly emboldened by his nod. "Instead of working together, we both tried to muddle through on our own. That, more than anything, was our problem."
"I'm not denying that," Ken replies slowly. "I would, however, like to point out that you're sounding very much like a self-help book yourself now."
The corners of his mouth twitch upwards as he speaks and I laugh a breathy, relieved laugh.
"Guilty," I acknowledge. "But no matter the phrasing, it doesn't change the fact that I'm right. We had problems and those problems need addressing."
"And that's why you'd say No?" Ken asks and I can see that he's fighting to keep his expression impassive.
Slipping my fingers from his grasp, I scoot a little closer to him and take his face between both of my hands.
"We're getting a second chance and this time, I want to get it right," I explain. "If we rush this, there's a danger of getting caught up in the hurry and the excitement and before we know, it's three years later and we never stopped to get it right. I don't want that. I want to work with you to figure this out and make it happen, so that we will never, ever get to the point we were at last year again."
"Me, too," Ken agrees without hesitation.
I nod, my hands still cradling his face. "So we agree about that?"
"You bet we do," he confirms and there's no doubt in his voice. "I just…" He trails off.
"Yes?" I ask, lightly brushing my fingertips over his skin.
Ken swallows heavily. "Will you tell me? When it's a good time to ask?"
"You bet I will," I promise, a feeling of elation rushing through me.
Moments later, I'm caught in a kiss and an embrace and honestly, how did I survive for six months without this?
Apparently, Ken thinks along the same lines, because it takes a long while until he lets go of me again. In fact, he only leans back when my stomach grumbles loudly in protest at still not having been fed. (It has a lot in common with George, my stomach has.)
"Hungry?" asks Ken, smiling.
"I haven't had breakfast," I inform him defiantly.
"Something we clearly need to remedy presently," he agrees and reaches forward to get my bowl for me.
The muesli is somewhat soggy from the yoghurt, while the coffee, no doubt, is cold by now, but I have a feeling we haven't finished talking for today – not to speak of kissing – and I need to get some food into me before we continue. Therefore, I gobble up the contents of the bowl in a speed that would make George proud. Ken eats his muesli slower and while he does, he watches me with both affection and amusement. When I put my bowl down, he mirrors me, even though his is far from empty. But then, he probably didn't come here on an empty stomach, so isn't in any danger of starving any time soon.
"So…" Ken begins as he picks up my hand and interlaces our fingers. "We're us again, aren't we? For good?"
I squeeze his hand tightly. "We are."
"Okay." He nods slowly. "Okay. In that case… You said we need to get better about communicating and I agree, so I'll try to take a first step and ask how we go forward from here. You've been back here for several months now and I appreciate that you probably built a life for yourself in that time. I can't ask you to give all that up again and move back to London, but I think we need to figure out how this will work from here."
I cock my head to the side. "Do you really want to do long distance again?"
Ken snorts. "I want no such thing. But with Dad still being on the mend, me leaving England is not an option and I understand that I can't just expect you to do the moving again."
"So I'll make it easy and decide to move," I reply, shrugging.
"Just like that?" he asks and frowns.
"Yes, just like that." I laugh softly at his expression. "Look, I've been here in Canada for a while now, but I didn't… I didn't put down new roots anywhere here. Ingleside is a safe place for me, but it's not necessarily home, not anymore. I might never have come to London without you, but I lived there for years and those years made their mark. Mum said something like that to me all the way back in January and while I didn't see her point then, I started to realise the truth of it when I came back in April. London is home for me now. To move back there is no sacrifice for me. To be honest, it feels perfectly natural."
Ken breathes a visible sigh of relief. "I'm very, very glad to hear that. I mean, I would have done everything to make long-distance work, too, but…"
"It sucks?" I supply innocently when he trails off.
He laughs. "It does."
But there's a note of hesitation in his voice and the smile slips too quickly from his face, telling me that all is not well. Poking a finger into his upper arm, I ask, "But?"
"But?" he repeats, confused.
"There's a but there," I elaborate. "I want to know what it is."
Ken smiles wryly and I know that I'm right. "It's not a but per se," he answers hesitatingly. "It's more that…well, I heard you back in December when you explained that you felt you were missing something and that you needed to go look for more. I understand it, too, because I think I tried to find something similar when I went to Cyprus. I just… I don't want you to give up looking and come back to a life that didn't fulfil you."
I listen to him, a little impatiently, and when he's finished, I lean forward to give him a kiss.
Ken blinks. "What was that for?"
"For getting it," I explain, looking at him fondly. "It just means a lot to know that you respect my wish to go looking for what I felt was missing. I can assure you, though, that it's not an issue anymore. I was looking for my place, that one place where I can be the best version of myself and the place where I feel like I should be. I travelled all over Canada, looking for it, but the irony is that I didn't find it until I came back to London."
"I'm not sure I understand?" Ken replies cautiously, clearly not wanting to cause any offence.
I purse my lips as I consider a better way to phrase what I want to express. "See, I never really felt like what I did made any difference in any meaningful way. I know what I'm good at and I know I can do certain things well, but it never felt like enough. It wasn't until last month that I first got that feeling of being where I'm supposed to be, of making a true difference and of finding out where my real strengths lie. I felt like I didn't have to hide behind anyone anymore, that for once, I was truly enough. I don't want to sound full of myself, but Owen said I was the only person in the world who could have supported all of you the way I did."
"That's absolutely true," Ken interjects.
I give him a brief smile in thanks, but don't let it deter me from what I need to say. "I've been thinking a lot about that and it made me realise that this could be what I was looking for, that this is the best version of me there is and that I really want to build my own little corner in this crazy world of yours… of ours. The thing is, I've been thinking so much about what I would have done with my life if we'd never met, because I thought I needed to figure this out on my own, independent of you. Now though, I'm thinking that it doesn't have to be that way. I'm not sure I believe in fate, but maybe meeting you and finding myself went hand in hand? And even if not… does it really matter, if it feels right?"
"Does it feel right?" he wants to know, his thumb stroking over the back of my hand.
I nod, slowly at first and then ever faster. "I think it does. Plus, I mean, clearly I didn't do too badly at this royal-adjacent business. Both your father and your sister offered me jobs, after all."
Ken grimaces, making him look like he has a severe toothache. "Ahh… see, the thing is… I absolutely respect that you'll want to look for a job again, not just because of your visa but because I understand it's important to you to make your mark and be financially independent, but… look, I just…" He trails off helplessly.
I allow a smile to slip through. As amusing as it is to see him squirm (an unusual occurrence in itself), I take pity on him and release him from his misery. "Breathe, Ken. It's okay. I will go looking for a job and I already have an idea what I might enjoy doing, but I won't start working for anyone in your family. You don't have to worry."
"I didn't worry!" he claims, sounding defensive. "I was just –"
"Of course you worried," I interrupt him, grinning, "and it was quite adorable." I know he means to protest, but before he can, I simply leaning forward to steal another kiss and that reliable puts a stop to that discussion.
Ken, however, seems to take the new doctrine of communicating very seriously, because my potential job isn't the only thing he wants to talk about. "Do you think I could put in a… a request?" he enquires carefully once we have parted again.
I laugh. "A request? Why so formal?"
He smiles wryly. "Because I absolutely do worry that I'll say something wrong and you'll disappear again," he replies, a sudden vulnerability visible on his face.
Detangling our hands, I instead move to wrap both arms around his neck, hoping to reassure him. "I'm not disappearing," I promise, "so you can safely name your request."
Reaching up to gently brush a hand through my hair, Ken elaborates, "Since we established that we'll both be living in London, I'd like for us to live together. I understood why you chose not to move to KP with me initially, but I loved living with you in Oxford and being able to always fall asleep and wake up with you by my side. If you don't feel comfortable in KP, I'm sure we can find another place, but I just don't want us to live apart again."
I consider him for a moment, feeling a rush of affection curse through me. It really looks like I wasn't the only one who did a whole lot of thinking these past months.
Out loud, I say, "I think George would enjoy living at KP. Lots of space to roam."
It takes a moment for the meaning to register with Ken, but when it does, a brilliant smile blooms on his face. I beam back at him happily. He secures my face between his hands and starts peppering kisses all over my cheeks, forehead, chin and finally, my lips. Not long afterwards, I find myself between him and the sofa, being thoroughly kissed, and I realise that rational thought is slowly slipping away.
"Ken," I manage to get out between kisses. "Ken!"
He leans back just far enough so he can look at me. "Yes?" he asks, but it sounds distracted and his eyes keep flickering back to my lips.
"I have a condition," I inform him, trying to be as assertive as I can be in my current position.
At least that reliably gets his attention. "A condition?" he repeats, frowning, his eyes now searching mine.
"I will come back to London, I'll live with you, I'll do it all, but I don't ever want to have to wear a woollen twinset or sensible court shoes again," I tell him earnestly.
Ken stares at me as he considers my words, then suddenly starts laughing. "If you really think I will protest against you wearing sexy high heels instead of those boring old lady shoes, you clearly don't know me all that well."
"I don't necessarily mean high heels," I correct, feigning seriousness. "I might be talking about ballerinas or gladiator sandals or something. Us women like to wear comfortable shoes, after all and –"
"Rilla," Ken interrupts me, grinning. "Stop talking, okay?"
And so, I do.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Circle Games' (written by Joni Mitchell, released by her in 1970).
To Guest:
Do you want me to tell you a secret? The part with Nan was actually meant to happen earlier, but I moved it here because I needed to fill this chapter. I always knew I'd end this particular chapter with Ken playing the bagpipes under Rilla's window and with those exact two final lines. The problem was that I needed enough material to fill the 4000+ words before that, so enter Nan. I didn't consider that her appearance would make people think it's Ken at first, but I do hope the ending makes up for any hopes dashed by Nan's visit ;).
To AnneShirley:
Ah, that really sucks! I'm sorry to hear it's all so difficult for you :/. It's so unfair and frustrating! If you have to sit the physical exam, maybe you can get a doctor's notice to explain about your heart murmur? Perhaps the school can put aside your own little room for you that allows you to write it without wearing a mask? It's inconvenient for them, but if you have a medical condition, you shouldn't be punished for it, especially if it's a place on your dream psychology course on the line! I'm having my fingers and toes crossed that it works out somehow!
Moving on to happier things, Rilla is definitely at fault for her and George not fully having reconciled. I mean, how could it ever be the cat's fault, right? ;) My cat maintains she's never in the wrong and yes, that totally includes this morning when she stole my breakfast. It was apparently solely my fault for not feeing her properly.
I know they probably weren't intended to, but your musings about Jerry made me smile a bit :). You're not wrong when you say that we don't see that he's changed, but I'd argue that's because we just don't see him at all, period. See, the thing is, I can't write Jerry for toffee, so he mostly just never features or, if so, hovers in the background and doesn't do much. You can't have seen him change, because I never allowed him to show that he's changed. We really only have Nan's word for it. Maybe you can trust in the fact that Nan is no fool?
I think this chapter sufficiently explained the origin of Romeo and Juliet in Scotland. It's all Ken's own doing and we shall keep mum about what narcotic he was under when he (re-)wrote it. But overall, Shakespeare doesn't seem to bad a choice when it comes to relationships, right? ;)
You aren't wrong to be excited! Psychology is absolutely a fun subject to study and it's very useful in life, too. We don't tell it to outsiders, but the first thing we teach young students is to read people's minds and then we spend the next few years teaching them how to handle that special super power. But shhhht! Top secret!
To Mammu:
I very much have a George of my own ;). My personal George is called Lilly and she thinks no more highly of diets than George does!
I think whether cheating can be forgiven or not is a personal decision and it very much depends on the circumstances. Jerry and Nan were apart for over 2.5 years before reconciling, so Jerry really has had time to work on himself. Nan saw that and she decided to give him another chance. It's important that it was her choice and that it was a conscious, informed one, because that means she's in control of this. And Jerry learned his lesson, so I assume they're going to be fine =).
The bagpipes and Scottish Romeo and Juliet are a call-back to a conversation in chapter 90, so Ken is literally referencing the last joke they shared before it all went pear-shaped. They haven't been in touch, but I imagine Rilla mentioned her plans to spend time in Ingleside before she left London. She wants him to come for her, after all, so she has to leave a few breadcrumbs out for him to follow ;).
And no, the end isn't nigh yet. I have 29 more chapter planned and I might continue even past that if people haven't grown tired of me and the story by then!
To DogMonday:
Thank you for taking the time to review and for saying some very kind things! I always appreciate that very much =).
A lot has happened since chapter 90, so I wasn't sure whether everyone would remember that random little conversation about bagpipes. Even without that though, I suppose not many people have reason to stand below Rilla's window and play the bagpipes (badly), so it was really always going to be Ken. As for how he knew where to find here, I imagine Rilla told him before she left London that she planned to stay at Ingleside for a while, so that he knew where to find her.
I do love your questions about Aunt Mary, because I totally have plans for her and Rilla to have an important conversation in the future. It won't happen right away (not until chapter 115 by my current plan), but yes, that talk is definitely happening and I hope you will approve of it when it does! The press, too, will have to re-evaluate Rilla in light of things that have happened and will happen, so we'll see more about that as well.
You did understand the German correctly. I have 130 chapters planned and might even write more, if it's still fun and people are still reading =).
