“Where are you going young lady?”
Before she could answer her father barked, “Go ahead i bet your tired.”
“James she is going to end up a crazy tramp.”
“Annette Jenkins, that is the last time you talk about her that way, and lay another hand on her, I dare you. You will be wearing sunglasses at revival.”
His words were empty threats; her father was a gentle man who never hit anything, accept books, which he loved more than life.
“Where is it? I know it is in one of these.” Rosy questioned as she tore into her monstrous wall of literature. It was hard to find any certain one. She had changed out the spines of the more esoteric variety with those of ‘acceptable’ books.
“Blavatsky. No. Cambell. Maybe. Gurdjieff. No. What am i lookin for?” she spoke to herself.
Rosy became stone when she saw the ghostly magpie land and sing.
Da de da da
Da de da da
She moved slowly, knowing what they turn into ,and read from the book.
“The older grail bearer weds the younger Saracen Feirefiz. He is my Feirefiz. “