Two for Tea: Welcome to Azathé (Cambric Creek #4)

by C.M. Nascosta

There were only two times when the voice could not reach her — when she was lost in a book and when she was asleep.

“Tea is more than hot water and some dried-out leaves. It’s an elixir of health, and it reminds us to make time for simple joys. Nothing can rush a steeping leaf, and there is no problem that cannot be paused to enjoy a hot cup. Tea forces us to slow down and exist uninterrupted in a small moment. That’s what’s left at the bottom of your cup — the dregs of your problems. Reading the leaves will help you realize what you need to do to banish them from your life.”

Quieting our minds is one thing; better still to fill them with knowledge and compassion. Less room for despair. In any case, there’s no vexation on either side of the veil that cannot be eased with a hot cup of tea and a good book.

Grief was a bruise on her heart, but her heart was still capable of doing other things. Depression, on the other hand . . . depression lied. Depression was that little lizard voice at the back of her consciousness that was always quick to cut her down and remind her of her shortcomings. Depression was losing half a week to her bed, believing the hateful, poisonous things Ilea said, that she wasn’t a good enough witch, a good enough sister, a good enough daughter. Depression was a blanket that cocooned her, but when the melancholy passed, it left her body writhing like an exposed nerve, and she was desperate to be fucked. Fucked and licked and fucked again, held down and used, over and over until she was exhausted and sated and finally felt as though she was not going to go mad from her inability to sit still.

“Too many choices seem preferable to too few, does it not? A wide selection of choices is what light walkers prefer, I thought? Why, just look at our menu, we have more than a hundred different looseleaf options that you might pick from —“ “Yeah, and it’s about eighty-five too many on some days. At least for me. You’re right, a lot of people love having a big selection to pick from, no matter what it is — books, tea, brands of crackers, the exact same flavor of soda from eight different brands. I’m not one of them, though. Too many choices are overwhelming.” They were flummoxed. The little noises of offense coming from the corner were like bursts of electricity across her skin, crinkled paper and a staticky radio. “But — but that doesn’t make any —“ “It doesn’t need to make sense to you. That’s just how I am. Some people like choices. I like being told what to do. Pin me down and take all my choices from me, that sounds like a perfect afternoon.”