Katabasis

by R.F. Kuang

Peter trudged into her circle, which was very rude. One should always ask before entering another magician’s pentagram.

Peter moved through life with an obliviousness that, again, was excused only by his genius.

“Hell’s lonely,” said Peter. “You’ll want company.” “Hell is other people, I’ve heard.”

She would sever a limb. She would give anything, so long as she still had her mind, so long as she could still think.

Success in this field demanded a forceful, single-minded capacity for self-delusion.

They made her wonder, envious, if ignorance was truly the secret to bliss.

Who were you without your memories, your background, your relationships, your station?

“Why would you hoard books in a library?” “To prove that you’ve found them,” said Moore. “To prove you know of them. To prove you have proximity to them. But reading them, that’s too much.”

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“I feel sometimes it is so difficult to be conscious.”

“And I think anything would be easier. Anything at all.” “There’s time for that.” Peter grasped her by the elbow; firm, but gentle. His voice was soft. “It’ll always be waiting, Law. But we’ve got things to do.”

my eyes are leaking

She knew his laughter from across the hall. She would have known it from the other end of the world.

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Surely no one else was so anchored by anxiety. Other people could stumble and shake their heads and move on. How she envied their lightness.