Good. So what’s next? There’s always a next. Is this the point at which you become a beetle living in a crack between the door frame and the wall? Is this the point at which the next great adventure is walking across the kitchen floor?
There’s always a next. There is. There has to be. Fantasy might sometimes be better and more real than surface reality, but it isn’t enough. Nothing ever is. That’s the problem. It's how I recognised the priestess, but she doesn't have the answer unless the answer is, as she says, 'there's nothing to be done.'