Tumbledown Ave. | Chapter 7
When The Author Named The Wives After That First Frequency He Never Considered the Implications of Their Husbands
The interior of where she took them could only be described as a chapel, albeit the memory of one, the walls and pews a chimeric shade of blue and grey-silver, clouds in place of the ceiling, and rain dropping in some of the corners before stopping, as if undecided if they should break the tableaux or not.
Miss Crepuscular opened her arms wide by the altar, a block of marble with a sheet across it, her skin budding at the back to reveal Putto, wingéd babes, who flew to the ceiling and evaporated, made of the same swirling dusk-light flesh as Crepuscular herself.
“I have waited so long to speak with you,” she said, and Zinc and Mr. Tomorrow shared a glance before Tomorrow took a step forward, “Not you,” she said again, her voice a tintinnabulation of starshine dripping over a cot, “You.” She pointed to the dog.
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