25 February 2022

In the quiet of the Grand-Moûtier at Abbaye Royale de Fontevraud, the wind carried on it the constant whisper of a thousand years. I sat, regretful in my exhale, as the Abbey slept. It is the silence when I am the most terrified and at peace. I lingered on the waxing moon, just three days short of full release, and shook. This place—this holy, sacred, venomous, cruel place—soothed me in the darkness, and I submit.

Midnight, at Fontevraud.

23 February 2022

So, there I was with Aesmeh de la Rose showing me around Amboise, France. Now that she’d offered to introduce me to the crew, I had to forgive her for so unabashedly revealing her death to me without my consent. Apparently, when you are a novelist who’s come to tell their stories, those who’ve waited all of those centuries for you to get it together already know your storyline.