30 Apr Foul And Fair: Is Whispering Nothing? Chapter 4
I dream of circles. Circles around me, insubstantial in every way but holding me in place. I’m their prisoner, but they’re nothing at all. Lines on the ground glowing red and pulsating with some sort of anchoring strength that pulls the breath from me. I’ve had this dream before, and I know there are footsteps marching around me in circles just past the edge of my vision, but the circle drowns out all the sound. I always assume that I’ve done this to myself somehow—because, in the end, the feet belong to me and the Whisperer is no one and I have to accept responsibility for my actions no matter how much blood I’ve spilled—but there’s always a chance in there, somewhere, that I didn’t do it. Right? That the Whisperer is real and it takes control and I have nothing on my hands at all. Except, even if I’m just a tool—which I’m not—that doesn’t absolve me. I could and should take myself away from it. Refuse to be wielded. And in war, as a soldier—there’s an easy excuse, right? Creating the scenario I seem to need, where I can kill and hurt and kill and it’s not my fault because I have to and the Whisperer wins and everyone is happy except the dead. Ceana’s face hangs outside the circle now, staring at me, the only thing I can really see beyond the edges. Where did they take her? Does she hear the whispers too? It’s just a dream. I can’t look at her. * There’s a clock in the Plutony’s shop, and it’s an impressive thing. Standing on the floor, swinging a pendulum back and forth, and ticking, moving the hands on its own. I’m told it was expensive. It looks expensive, it’s not like any other clock I’ve ever seen. Clocks as tall as a person, whose gets you can see turning and clicking and driving the mechanisms with tiny shining brass bits are probably common in a big city. But here, it’s a draw. But it’s so loud, ticking at me, and I know it’s not actually at me, but the way it just keeps on making those noises, seemingly louder every time, it feels personal. I’ve been here three times a week for years and I’ve stared at that clock many times before, but I’ve never noticed how loud it is. But then again, I’ve never been the only person in the shop before. No Dr. Plutony, no Pinzinger. No customers. Just me and the fish and the clock, and the fact that it’s five minutes after our normal start time. I don’t know how much longer I can wait, not with the circle dream hanging in my mind, not without my medicine. Someone is talking behind the wall, outside. It’s too muffled to hear any words, but it doesn’t...