Re: [bookshop: ren & elijah]
Wasn't clear. Knew he wasn't clear but his heart was thrusting itself against his rib-cage and fluttering in the base of his throat and his hands were cold and wanted to leave, to run until the cold air hit him like a full force assault, until he was clear of people with things wrong or broken or alive that could be dimmed. Didn't care about mysteries or non-fiction, cared about the aggregate. About taste, in lists and other people's choices but none of it could be conjured up on his tongue.
Magic was dead. It just was, and it would be until Elijah was gone. It was deadened silence, an impression of being muffled. The man shuffled books into his arms, a stack of other-choices that could be read without speaking to anyone about why they were picked. Thought about coffee. Liked it bitter, black. Liked it with a thick taste that coated his tongue.
"Don't know, any of them," Elijah said. Did know, back at home but helpless, in the embrace of cold panic.