Company appearing in the form of strangers bringing food to a prisoner. They come and go like breezes on the ocean, sometimes too shy to even announce their presence, arriving and leaving as shadows. Am I such a bitch? Arghin finds me in my bedroom in the 'morning' of what I think is my fifth day here. It's hard to tell, being underside instead of topside. I'm deep in the underworld, which would usually thrill my inner Goth, but not so much right now. My room is full of old stuff that no longer fits my new life. Everything I held dear, everything that seemed important no longer seems to matter one iota. Arghin nudges his head, “Wanna read the book?” “What book?” I grumble, aggravated to the tips of my toenails. “The Book of Shadows. You, me, all of us, we're shadows.” Blinking in denial, I attempt to halt my runaway careening fear of the implications that he's casually spewing, as if it's no biggie.
