10
I rushed into the house toward my suite, exhausted. The gigantic blue wall of moss sat in my mind like a frozen vertical wave. Poised to crash upon me.
I focused on my dayroom, trying to dispel my sense of impending doom. The room reflected many of the pursuits I'd heretofore enjoyed. In the corner was a loom built from a schematic that I'd dug from an ancient book. On the loom were the beginnings of a crude rug. Beside it stood the abandoned glassware of a rudimentary chemistry set, dust and evaporates clinging to clear tubes graduated in white. In the opposite corner swayed a long, luxuriant feather, quill stuck in a small pot caked black with dried ink, a nearby parchment half-filled with the script of an ancient tongue. These forgotten pastimes of childhood had been replaced with
