Amphigenous and Cymbeline
Mar. 24th, 2009 03:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bodlonJust a thing I did because I'm off to STL tonight with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ivo_shandor to see Catherynne Valente.
Yeah, I've just committed Palimpsest fanfic/art. (Note: I don't own Palimpsest. It's Catherynne Valente's. I'm just playing with it for glee. It's a good book. Go. Buy. Read.)
Amphigenous and Cymbeline
At the corner, a cracked glass tower which once stood tall before the war, its edges still so sharp that they can slice away the feet of an unwary Casimira pigeon. Each day at sunset the ruin flares and gleams, a spark of its former glory. A tribe of boys has taken the cellar of the tower for their own and harvests tender mushrooms that they sell out of little crates wherever they can find a scrap of busy pavement to do business. Across the road, a laundry run and kept by fox-headed Muxe, who dresses always in a wrapped robe of silk shreds found in the refuse of Palimpsest’s gentry. The boys whisper among themselves that Muxe can tell fortunes in the way a stain refuses stubbornly to lift, but the sheets and shirts and other things are always returned to their owners pristine, and Muxe alone watches each patron’s fate unfold.
The real trick will be drawing this map onto myself in the car.
ivo_shandor to see Catherynne Valente.Yeah, I've just committed Palimpsest fanfic/art. (Note: I don't own Palimpsest. It's Catherynne Valente's. I'm just playing with it for glee. It's a good book. Go. Buy. Read.)
Amphigenous and Cymbeline
At the corner, a cracked glass tower which once stood tall before the war, its edges still so sharp that they can slice away the feet of an unwary Casimira pigeon. Each day at sunset the ruin flares and gleams, a spark of its former glory. A tribe of boys has taken the cellar of the tower for their own and harvests tender mushrooms that they sell out of little crates wherever they can find a scrap of busy pavement to do business. Across the road, a laundry run and kept by fox-headed Muxe, who dresses always in a wrapped robe of silk shreds found in the refuse of Palimpsest’s gentry. The boys whisper among themselves that Muxe can tell fortunes in the way a stain refuses stubbornly to lift, but the sheets and shirts and other things are always returned to their owners pristine, and Muxe alone watches each patron’s fate unfold.
The real trick will be drawing this map onto myself in the car.
