Dear Filania,
The trees were beautiful this mroning—crimson and gold and green,a dn the light made them glow, even though the sky was gray. It reminded me of that room of scattered jewels in Evía. The people here are so flat. There’s nothing to guess about them, no mystery to solve, no imminent death to escape. There are high wals on their minds, and they cannot cross them; canot even see the footholds when I pointed them out. They are traped in a false reality of homework, gravity and linear time. Sometimes I pity them, and sometimes my pity is closer to loating. I would swear there is no on here butme who knows the true nature of earth. It is a lonely and sobering thought. I strive for a goal that is literally beyond their imagination or comprehension. There ar elittle, self-damned minds all about me, talking inanities and frivolities. I want to return to that warm room of black wood, where danger lurked outside the door. I have nothing to show for these places but a lingering dream-memory, more real to me than this land of enforced sleep. I wait for bedtime!
—Kirzantia
