Dear Ma’am, Sir, Reader, or otherwise, I wonder if you have caught on yet?<br/>I wonder if you could hear<i>them </i>yet.<br/><br/>I wonder if you could guess about the conversation inside of a man.<br/>I wonder if you could guess about the conversation inside of William.<br/><br/>While warm, comforted, and told stories of days gone by, Vivian was wholly unaware of what transpired just there, passed those doors, around those workers, and right there in that room.<br/><br/>We though dear Reader…<br/>We can see it all.<br/><br/><br/>So many, just so many of those people to which tread this path have access to places. Places that are moving sideways, or realms made of silken adoration, or even places that yet have to be dreamed, but these are<i>external</i>things. The world to which all light had been lost, and the place to which now William stands was not an<i>external thing at all.</i><br/><br/>Per usual the man was out of step with the rhythm of the world or theme, and he made his own way.<br/><br/>This place of once isolation now was nearly full. Noise not in gentle lapping of waves, nor in the soft symphony of strings, but in the great world drowning oceans. Teeth gnashed like jack hammers in a duel to the death. Leathery scaly skin rubbed raw against its own coils in tattered ripping of dusty leather. Voice, not by dozens or even hundreds, hummed, rambled, screamed, begged, roared, but made not a single word that could be understood. The endless thing had filled the endless space, left but a haphazard center, of this world itself, empty save for William.<br/><br/>Place, world, dream, imagination, or even fantasy, there was no true label to such a machination as this construct. Though words in the long run were<i>a lot less important</i>than people tended to think of them as. It was the<i>effect</i>that was more important than genesis. This place was woven together not for lustful nights, travels, or even safety. No, an endless space had been hollowed out of a man for but one purpose alone… to contain something. So, it did quite rightly in fact contain that thing with a multitude of mouths, noises, and madnesses.<br/><br/>Though it also contained a part of the man himself, even with those blue eyes to match.<br/><br/>William, or at least a part of him, held up that hand, and every noise… every motion of this world inside… ceased.<br/><br/>Here, there was no monster behind the glass of ocean depths of William’s eyes. Here the monster was separate, parted, with no power to cause white caps in ocean blues. It spoke with a hundred mouths, saying words together, grinding teeth, gnashing cavities, roaring. As if a thousand madmen devoured a thousand versions of something<i>wrong with the world,</i>they somehow coexisted long enough to almost speak in unison.<br/><br/>That part of William could reach out to it, talk to it, and listen to the infection itself that one day would win.<br/><br/><i><span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'">Planned.Calculated.Manifest.</span></i><br/><br/>“<i>The Pet was a woman, neither one of us accounted for that.”<br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'">Scared?</span></i><br/><span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'"><i>Turning back? Running away? Chicken shit? </i></span><br/><b><span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'">Breaking promise?</span></b><br/><br/>“<i>You keep your word. I will keep mine.”<br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'">Bargain.Deal.Promise.Beneficial.</span></i><br/><span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'"><i><b>Keep your word.</b></i></span><br/><br/><br/><br/>Look now Dear Reader, because we are all seeing, all knowing. Look at William, where he stands inside of the room for one moment. Soon Vivian is destined to enter this very place, so take a look around, and look at those. See them there? Thin as a thread, soft as silk, but red as crimson fall sunset. They are woven near the floor so they are ever so hard to notice, and if not pointed out one could miss them.<br/><br/>Follow them around, look about, see how they are almost<i>everywhere?</i><br/><br/>I would say that it was a spider but we’ve played our hand at silks. Look instead to the edge of William’s sleeve as he stands almost stock still in almost the center of that space. See it?<br/><br/>Oh, someone would be jealous that someone stole his tricks, but that isn’t quite it Dear Reader. Truth be told it’s time to be let in on a little secret, so come close, and look at those ‘threads’ close.<br/><br/>Remember when Mister Weaver said William changed him?<br/>Do you remember how he said it in that almost loving tone?<br/><br/>William had to clear out a lot of himself, breaking the image of self like a pane of glass. It was those parts of himself, those sharp edged, shattered reflections of aspects. That is why… well those close to him are granted who they become to be.<br/><br/>Like an unholy communion, they take parts of their belief of William into themselves, and<i>become.</i><br/><br/>Never by force or without wish.<br/>Neither the wealthy or the powerful.<br/>Just those William finds on the edges of a tide that soon will take them away.<br/>The tossed aside.<br/>The broken.<br/>Those deserving.<br/>Those with gaps in themselves where those pieces can fit.<br/><br/>Does that make him a God?<br/>Does that make him a Devil?<br/>A cure? An infection? Salvation? Damnation? Sane? Insane? Lost? Found?<br/><br/>William didn’t even know the answers himself, and never claimed to.<br/>Words, titles, histories, and other things needing words are simply gone when there is no one left with the ability to read the language. In the end, it’s simply a false sense of security easily snapped as a butterfly’s wing, and just as beautiful to the beholder.<br/><br/>All the Heir knew was that there were pieces yet to give, and now that he had Vivian? Not only could the Promise be kept, but much more. Things could be set right. Though enough of that nonsense, lean back, grab your popcorn because the show is just getting started.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Back straight. Shoulders squared. Chest slightly out. It was the stance of someone who had trained for war under the direction of soldiers. It becomes ingrained, second nature, and not even the pull of the waters of thought could unpluck feet from their shoulder width.  So there, in that steady place, almost unmoving save for the rise and fall of his chest, William stood among his drowning blues. Left hand had been placed upon a book on the table before him, black bound leather cover, old, rubbed raw from repeated use, and spine clearly not overly supportive.<br/><br/>Draped in that same blue jacket with the high collar, William was turned towards the door, and silenced his eyes behind the lids. At the moment<b>they</b>were keeping track of everything. Man, woman, mouse, or nun fart, nothing went unnoticed. Though William wasn’t simply a voyeur, or in the least, that wasn’t the intent. It was a searching network, not kept only to where people moved, but through the walls, ceiling, floor, carpet, and even the bloody shingles.<br/><br/><i>Where..</i><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'">Pet. Woman. Naive. Sad. Prey. Pretty. Flower. </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'">Vivian.</span></b><br/><br/>A hair? A snipped part of a web? A few patrons of William’s home noticed something brush against their cheek, their finger, leg, or hair, but before their testing startled hand could grab it… it was gone. They did not retract, come back in, or anything as fancy as that. That connection to the world was simply severed, cut away and let to almost instantly decay in a<b>place</b>it should not be. The loss was nothing after all, there was something endless that could simply make more.<br/><br/>There is a difference between seeing, and<i>knowing.</i><br/><br/>William<b>knew</b>she had come into the room, even before she began to speak, but to turn and see her? Oh, there was some witty remark, some easy answer, a wink, and all of that in the chamber ready to be used if he needed to with Vivian, but all that was cut away as well.<br/><br/>Perhaps it was the movement, or even<i>his </i>color glinting back at William in Vivian’s movement. Maybe it was the silver thorns that kept one at bay, while also wishing to grow closer to such a beautiful vine. Words… did not matter.<br/><br/>It was that look that at once froze storms of blue into a solid color. One could say it had an effect like ice, but that would be cold. This was confusion, startled revelation, and wordlessness. It was the base emotion of a simple sentence that easily could be translated without the need to define such an age-old reaction...<br/><br/><i>You are beautiful.<br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'">Close mouth. Stop gawk. Regain. Control. Plan. </span></i><br/><span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'"><i><b>Keep word.</b></i></span><br/><br/>William was back, and the glass surface of shock was shattered by the turbulence of that storm being reborn behind his eyes. Easy smile, lifted slightly more to the right then left, gave a slight air of mischief to the no doubt handsome man. Unburdened by the walking stick that rested silently on the table nearby, hand reaching out towards Vivian with those fingertips stretched to her as if an invitation to once again dance.<br/><br/>“I have some time at the moment. What may I do for you my Dear Pet? I hope no idiot has broken our arrangement this quickly...”