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update from sparkleup

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Madison Rye Progress 2024-07-13 07:49:28 -07:00
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writing/post-self/idumea/001.md
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## End Of Endings — 2403<br>×<br>Rye — 2409
Once upon a time there was–
"A king?" my little readers will immediately say.
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When Michelle who was Sasha had quit, out on a field so similar to the one that she lived on, The Woman breathed a sigh of relief, because she knew — though I do not think she know how — that Michelle who was Sasha had found her own relief in those last moments. She had looked up to the sky, up to our poet, up to The Dreamer who dreamed the world in which they lived, and in those moments she knew relief. She knew relief and she knew joy and she knew so, so much peace.
When Michelle who was Sasha had quit, out on a field so similar to the one that she lived on, The Woman breathed a sigh of relief, because she knew — though I do not think she know how — that Michelle who was Sasha had found her own relief in those last moments. She had looked up to the sky, up to our own personal *HaShem,* up to The Dreamer who dreams the world in which we live, and in those moments she knew relief. She knew relief and she knew joy and she knew so, so much peace.
Peace! That was one of the things that The Woman craved. She wanted nothing more than to know a little bit of peace.
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This is why The Woman had so much trouble with clothing, you see. She would try to look deep within herself at her moods to see what it is that she felt and how it was that the day might go and she might come up with a pretty skirt that felt good on her legs and a lovely shirt she liked the look of, but then, some time later, the shirt would be puffy with fur and the skirt would not sit right with her tail.
No rituals. No overflowing. Just peace. It is hard to experience peace, hard to experience joy when one is too much oneself, is it not?
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