User:Corina&joeri

Note : the two main characters are based on a comic strip called Ozy and Millie which you can view at www.ozyandmillie.net

Chapter I

Millie was trying to stay quiet, but it was rather hard, as her hind leg was itching. In the dark of the hallway, she could see everything in detail, her golden eyes glowing in the dark. What she was about to do was a little bit like a hunt in the plains where she had grown. The prairies of Saskatoon were a much better place to hunt, though, she thought, as she watched the small group arriving in the hallway, for if there was enough wheat to disguise her golden-red fur in back home, she only had the dark to dissimulate her presence tonight. Where they were arriving from, she had no clue, for the girls' and boys' dorms were at totally opposite ends of the school, yet there they were coming all together from one of the dorm wings, into the common area, with a candle that flickered, to light the way. She sat her croup to the floor. Her thick fur absorbed the shock without noise. She passed her tongue over her sharp yellowish teeth and took out the pad and paper from her single-straped bag : "Charlotte, Fons, Cedric and Quendal met up yesterday night in the common room" she scribbled down hastily. Charlotte, suddenly turned her wolf muzzle in Millie's direction and took a deep breath. "It smells funny", she said. Fons, also a wolf, sniffed the air. "Nah, it's nothing. This room was crowded by the whole school less than two hours ago, of course it still smells...". Millie let out her breath. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest. She had been scared they would find her out, and that she would not be able to finish off her article for The Secret News, which she posted every morning anonymously at the canteen to expose the most well hidden secrets of the school to light. It was not just one of these scandalous zines you find at your local gas station, but rather a very carefully selected stream of news which was particularly aimed at making the Untouchable be perceived as normal people. Millie loathed the aura which existed around those "fortunate ones", especially those four ungrateful animals sitting on the floor. There was nothing that special about them after all. A vulture, two wolf brothers and sisters, and a black panther. Although she did want to finish this article - what a great deed she was doing for her entire school! - she had been a little bit disappointed that once again, nobody acknowledged her presence. Four predators like these, who were so agile at catching every little movement of anyone around them, and none of them had caught on to the fact that she was there, in the dark, two arms' length away, spying on their little ritual. She tossed the idea out of her head.

"We should get mattresses. This floor ain't that comfortable!", said Fons. "Cedric, get us mattresses will you? It's easier for you 'cauz you fly quicker than we walk", ordered Quendal. "No I don't! Get your own!" said Cedric as he flied off. Within seconds, he was nevertheless back with one mattress secured in each claw and two held precariously by the beak. "But only because I'm nice", he felt obligated to specify. "Alright, then we can begging", said Quendal. He awkwardly attempted to open a jar which was full of liquid and extracted four long things from it, distributing it to each, keeping the longest -whatever it was- to himself. "An ode..." Millie marked down every word. "... to the Pickle." She looked up from her sheet. To the pickle? What kind of ritual was that?? All four struggled as they kept their balance on their hind legs and got hold of the pickles with their front paws, except for Cedric, who, proud as a falcon, held his pickle between his talons in one of his vulture feet. Millie marked that down, too. "To the pickle" the other responded in chorus. They then each proceeded to a degustation of their own pickle. Millie felt disgusted as she imagined the sour juice slowly coming out of the soft, moist skin of the pickle. She made a grimace at the thought. She waited for something interesting to happen, something that would either make this ritual more clear, or some bitter words they might have towards kids at school or some of the staff, or even a confession on some mischief they were up to, but nothing came. All their talks revolved around the food at the cafeteria and some sitcoms they watched together on their TVs hidden in their rooms. It was forbidden to have those in the dorms, but the popular children all had them anyway and made no effort to conceal it from their classmates, even though they went to great length to keep it a secret from the staff. This rather anti-climatic development of their discussion could not keep Millie awake enough, and she started yawning. This discussion didn't seem to lead anywhere remotely interesting. How could people even be interested in such petty subjects, she wondered, when there were such nice things to think about? Had she been up with friends late at night, she might have risked detention to go out on the school grounds and lay back on a tablecloth spread on the grass, observing the stars. Or she might have brought her sax and played along with others making a great music band. Or she might have just sit and read a book alongside her friends. But Dawsons Creek? A series where couples kept changing every season and where drugs and drinking and futile ways of life were an example for a life towards happiness... She felt a little disappointed by the fact the most exciting event occurring in the boarding school was that...  and nothing more...

Millie didn't dare get back to her room lest she be caught by the gang. So she waited, her eyes trying to fight against gravity, for the four friends to fall asleep. Around midnight, finally, she heard their calm breath and ventured a glance around the wall to see if they were fast asleep. In all security she ran back to her room, her little paws making "flip flap" sounds on the marble tiles. Her tail kept swaying left and right with excitement; she was about to type the article and post it on the doors of the dinning hall for everyone to see the next morning. Only what she didn't know was that someone had beat her to it that night.

Chapter II

Her little ears were thrown back, as she was carefully listening to the noise outside of her room. This was another tricky part, never getting caught while putting a publication up. She hadn't slept much, as this piece of news had taken her more to write than usual, but she felt that in any case she would catch up on her sleep until noon, when breakfast would be served. There were two groups of students. The night animals, who woke up later, but also finished later, and the early risers, which had morning classes and other matinal activities. So even her sleeping in would not arise suspicions. But she needed that piece of info up on the door of the dinning hall before the early birds would line up for their morning meal. She went down the stairs, towards the cafeteria. She could smell the aroma of the hot infusions spreading through the hallway. Her favorite, the Radiolaria, was made by leaving the water to boil in the rays of the rising sun. You could add pretty much any flavor to it, but the method by which it was made altered its quality; it had that warm, fuzzy feeling when you drank it. You could only produce the drink in certain places, where the sunrise was actually powerful enough to bring the water to ebullition, and even with that, Millie suspected there must be some kind of conductor plaque that would help diffuse the heat, because she had tried, a month before, to make her own infusions in the backyard early in the morning, and she had never gotten it right. Millie would of course be one of the first in line to breakfast, in a couple of hours, be it only to get her hands on one of the Radiolaria cups before it was gone. This drink was so popular she wondered why the staff didn't produce more of it. Nowadays, it could even be bought in stores, a chemical replacement, granted, but it tasted just the same. You added one of those purple spheres to your drink and within seconds, you obtained just about the same results.

"Millicent Mehitabel Mud" she heard him say before she had time to notice him. She had only just gotten to the last step, and was not even fully engaged in the anteroom when he caught her offguard. How could she have been so careless? Thinking about infusions and breakfast, when she was on such an important mission! And now she was caught in the act, she was exposed and before the morning was over, the whole school would know. Then, without any doubt, would come the principle's office. And yet she had always been on such good terms with the principle! Ok not the best of terms, but neutral enough to keep her out of trouble. "Well, perhaps not", she thought. Perhaps it wasn't too late. After all, she hadn't yet put anything up. "Ozymandias Justin Llewelly" she replied coolly. What to say next? He made it easy for her : "You're putting up that little News thing?", he asked. It seemed more of an affirmation than a question, from his tone. "Why do you automatically assume this?" she replied almost too quickly. "Darling, you're holding a paper entitled The Secret News in your bag. If you want to keep it a secret, perhaps you should push it further into your bag and actually hide it." Darling? She felt insulted. Or rather, patronized. Who was he to judge her? A grey little fox, smaller than her even, thin, white belly and plain dark eyes, unlike hers eyes which were truly amazing and her soft rich fur which may not have been to the taste of magazines, but which was noticeable anyhow. That guy barely had a personality... and he dared judge her? Well since he knew anyway, and it was too late to pretend anyhow, she took out the article and quickly taped it to the door. At least, this is what she intended to do because in reality she couldn't put the sheet straight on the glass doors and get her tape roll quickly enough. When she did find the tape, it kept sticking to her fur and then wouldn't stick to the glass anymore. On top of that, she couldn't have left scotch tape full of red-golden hair on it, it would have been much too incriminating. Not that it mattered much now that mister Ozymandias knew. But if one does something, he might as well do it right, she thought. While she struggled to get the damn paper sticking to the glass, Ozymandias just stood there in his comfortable sofa, not offering any help. His mutism annoyed her excessively as she could not see what he was doing and she could not tolerate the idea of being observed, the way little laboratory rats are. She was a free, learned animal, with all the dignity it entailed. Just as she was about to tell him that, she turned around and then stopped short. Ozymandias had already forgotten about her, he was back to reading his book. Great! Now books were more interesting than her! She stared, incredulous, at him, until he raised his plain eyes to meet her gaze. "Millicent, don't worry about the so-called popular kids. " he said again on a tone that made her want to throw her claws in his short fur. "What?" she managed to slip. "I don't care about them at all!" "What's that you're hanging on the door?" Millie felt her fur rise up in eagerness to share her discovery "You'll never believe what Quendal and cie are up to!". "Quendal and cie", he cut in, "whose existence you're not remotely interested in...". She was outraged. And he on his end, seemed so uninterested, and in his remark, casual and laid-back! She already knew she would not be able to fall asleep, not with this bursting anger in her, and yet she didn't let it show. She had already done a spectacle out of herself, but now the surprise element which had given Ozymandias so much field was gone, and she had no intention of continuing the discussion any further; he didn't deserve her attention an instant more, even less to know her thoughts. And judge them. She had a new sworn enemy, and in that moment, she suddenly knew who the next article would debunk; everyone had a secret and Ozymandias could be no exception.

Chapter III

Millie was resting her back on the headboard, she was holding the bolster in between her paws, looking intently at it. She placed the bolster near her, took back her book on World Religions. "In every sacred object, there resides a power which is waiting to express itself into the world. This power is the spirit of a deceased person who has died in a non painful way, and whose energy is still present.  The Shaman first starts by establishing a relationship with the object, trying to communicate his intent to it.  Once he feels a real connection between the object and himself, he starts to summon the Spirit into the object so that it may communicate with the human realm. "  She put down the book, picked up her bolster again and stared at it harder. What was one supposed to think about when summoning a spirit? She herself wasn't a Shaman, and she didn't really believe in Spirit... but if a whole nation of animals who lived up North believed in it, it might just turn out to be true. Why wouldn't objects have a spirit after all, if she had one? She had done nothing specific to receive a soul. She had no more merit than her pillow case or her bolster. She probably wasn't listening hard enough. "Well??" she asked, exasperated, at the thing. "Hm... well, you forgot your tape roll downstairs earlier and I thought you might want it back." said Ozymandias on the treshold of her room, uneasy in front of her annoyance. He had felt her hostility this morning but had not really meant bad. He shifted his weight from left to right while he waited for a form of acknowledgement. How in heaven's name had he found his way to her room? Had he been there long? "Not you; can't you see I'm busy?  Just leave it on the floor." she snapped. "You're talking to your bolster?" he asked as seriously as he could. She sighted. "Ozymandias, I will have you know that if you're too ethnocentric to know this, it doesn't mean others don't : Many religions hold that things have spirits. And I am trying to get in touch with this one.  Now leave.  This is my room." So much for helping her. The instant he was out the door she was back with her focus on the bolster, trying very hard to feel the connection the book mentioned one should feel. But she wasn't feeling it much. What was Ozymandias doing, obtruding in her affairs? First his annoying little comments on what she was doing, and then he actually had the nerves to invite himself into her room. There was a reason she didn't have a roommate : she wanted to be alone. Why was Ozymandias following her everywhere now? She lost patience. "What? I'm not good enough for you to talk to me?" she snarled at her innocent bolster before she thrust it on the sheet. Time to start her next investigation. Breakfast was about to be served, and although she had wanted her cup of Radiolaria, this - along with lunch and dinner - would be her only chance of exploring Ozymandias' room for any dark lurking secrets, while he would be eating his meal, worry-free. The boy seemed intelligent enough, so there would be little chance of cornering him when he saw her around. Better look at what he hides in his room, she thought.

She crept into the wing of the boys. The smell was already different. Through open doors, she could see clothes on the floor piled up for washing - how long had they been there? she wondered. It might have seemed suspicious to see a girl walking on her own into the boys' dormitories but luckily there was no one in sight, such as it was customary for her. She got to Ozymandias' door. She knew it was the right one because each of the students received a little plaque with their names engraved in cursive letters for their door. She pushed it open. Everything seemed normal. A rather disorganized room, like the rest of his classmates, an oak table in the middle, a grey sofa to the left. A little space for a desk and a bookcase sculpted in the wall - alright that last bit was a little unusual. She looked around. The bed was untidy, and socks were laying at her feet. She pushed them forward with disgust. Papers were spread all over the desk; but they were only homework from yesterday's class, nothing compromising. Just as she was getting discouraged, she came across some strange books in the shelves of his bookcase. The books were very old, it seemed. She picked one randomly to observe it. The pages seemed fragile. She was scared as she turned the pages that one of them would rip itself off. The pages had turned orange with time, as you would suspect them to, and the beginning of each chapter was carefully calligraphed in blue and green, with orange flowers running down in the margins. The writing itself was engraved deep in the pages, and running her finger over the queer letter signs, she could feel the ink as if it were burning her paw. No matter what page she turned to, she couldn't get a sense of what she was staring at. She had studied ancient languages, and quite a few contemporary ones, but this alphabet - if indeed it was an alphabet - seemed peculiar and unlike anything she had seen. And the book felt so much lighter than the number of pages it contained. She did not know what she had between her paws, but she was by then convinced to have found the beginning of Ozymandias' secret.

When she went back to her room, she found her scotch tape on her book, which was now open to a page she had never looked at. "According to Buddha" it read, "the desire is the cause of all human suffering. A human can only escape to his condition through purification of the mind and morals." The last of the two lines was scratched, and an exclamation point was scribbled hastily next to it, as if to express how obviously wrong this was. Millie felt puzzled. There was no way to know whether Ozymandias, whom she suspected to have shot a glance at her book while he was returning the scotch tape, or the previous owner of the book, had actually brought this annotation to the chapter. She was convinced it was Ozymandias anyhow, for someone who owned such a book would never dream of mistreating it in such a way. When she had taken a look at his books, at least, she had put them back on the shelves intact, as they were before. And she had taken care to dissimulate her passage there, too, leaving no evidence of it behind her. This boy is weird, she concluded as she took an eraser out of her drawer. She erased the exclamation mark, and the lines over the text, and passed her paws over the page a couple of time, using the hair on them to swipe the eraser debris. "There, now it's clean", she murmured. At least the statement was interesting. So it was her desires that made her suffer. She went on to read : "Birth is suffering, aging is suffering, illness is suffering, death is suffering; union with what is displeasing is suffering; separation from what is pleasing is suffering; not to get what one wants is suffering." And how just this was!

Chapter IV

The afternoon had passed very slowly. Millie had found it increasingly harder to stay seated in class when her mind was on the books. She was not following much of the class discussion, and had instead looked up on her computer any leads to the mysterious language that figured in the book of her classmate. She had not made much progress by the end of the day and even though her stomach ached with hunger, all she cared about was to get back to Ozy's room to perhaps scan the book and run it through a word processor of some kind. While she made her way to her room, she noticed how everyone around her was giving her a rather mistrusting glance. But Millie did not care much about her queerness as she was long used to it. She had understood very young that she was different from everyone around her, that there was somehow something which she could not name and which others could neither see in her, something of an anguish, an anxiety, a wound, very deep and very secret, a secret even to herself. But a wound that was somehow a motor. That made her perhaps more isolated but more conscious, more alone yet more alive. Something, too, that made her quite scared because it lied in her, waiting to be awoken by the smallest of events, and which flooded her with a sorrow and a wonder which only she could feel, and live, and hear, and which no one would ever share.

"Hey isn't it little Geekhead getting in our way?" rose a coarse voice in front of her. Millie rubbed her forehead as she hit into Cedric. He was taller and more massive than her, yet she had not noticed him approaching as she was walking distractedly in the hall. Immediately, she got alarmed and thought of what she would answer when Quendal and his friends would question her on her absence to lunch - and now dinner. Then the thought occurred to her that they, too, should be eating, and that they must be up to something as well. If I do not ask anything, she reasoned, neither will they. So with a lack of indiscretion which was frankly unnatural to Millie, she put a paw forward in an attempt to move out of the awkward situation. The popular gang however was of a more talkative mood at the moment and called back after her : "Where's your boooooyyfriend, geekhead?" Startled, Millie turned around. "What boyfriend?" Quendal imitated her on a squeeky tone "what boyfriend?" and then, Charlotte, who had been quiet until then, spat "the one you were with in the hall this morning." Her eyes narrowed. " I saw you two flirting." "Oh, him!" Millie almost felt like giggling. "He isn't my boyfriend, I'll have you know. He's just a boy...". "...Who happens to be your friend." completed Charlotte. Millie thought it out. It was the first time someone had paid a little attention to her existence in the past years, even if it was in a way that seemed somewhat unconcerned with what she was doing or thinking about or feeling. "Yeah, kind of..." "Well then", Charlotte concluded for her, "he's your boyfriend". "Nooooo!" - Millie was starting to become impatient - "he's a boy, who is also a friend. But he isn't a boyfriend.  There's a crutial difference in semantics I'll have you note!" "How did a geek get a boyfriend?" asked Charlotte's brother. "I didn't get a boyfriend, that's how!" she repeated, annoyed. "They must have like faaaaaaaascinating dates" said Quental to his friends with spite in his voice. Remembering her mission, she asked "weren't you folks going somewhere cool?" "Unlike you! Where are you going, Geekhead?  To your room, alone?" asked Charlotte. "Whatever..." Millie maundered. That got her out of their way safely into her room, where she changed into her night clothes -- so that if caught missing from supper, she could invoke some illness of some kind -- and made her way into the dark to Ozymandia's room. This time there was no sense of urgency; Millie knew dinners to be somewhat lengthy with the announcements for the next day, the guest speakers and the general chatter and social spirit that came about every night. She was never part of it, mind her, for there was no one really to talk to about anything interesting. She wondered how others had come to enter a discussion with their neighbors. Whenever she sat at the table every night, the place next to her would often not be warmed by anyone. It would lay there empty and silent, or worse, sometimes occupied by someone who would essentially keep their back to her for the whole meal, while being engrossed in some kind of talk. So she would eat quickly, and patiently wait for the guest speaker to finish his speech, and then tip toe unnoticed by anyone until she reached the great big oak doors which she would push with some difficulties and squeeze through them quickly before they shut. Then she would linger a little in the common room, with a book as her sole companion, and eventually make her way upstairs into her room where she would spend the rest of the night unnoticed. And so it was that she existed only to her eyes. She pondered on Charlotte's words. Even though the girl had meant ill, her words actually gave a new hope in her heart - a hope that perhaps for one person, she did exist. Of course he was no boyfriend, and in reality not really a friend either, more of a friendly acquaintance she reflected. The kind that she would not only say hi to on the street but perhaps seek purposely when she would have trouble in a math exercise -- well that wouldn't happen, but say... Yet he had always been so distant. And now that he had spoken to her, he had only been there as if to make an inquisition, and not to talk about himself. She had felt disapproval in his eyes and she had read the tone of superiority in his voice. As if he was better than her and unconcerned by her petty person. "Well better this than to like the guy", she suddenly thought, "since I'm about to publish his most shameful secret". Which she still had to uncover she reminded herself. She realized she must have passed his door while lost in thoughts, for she was now facing a wall. She turned around and found the room, finally entering it.

At first she felt confused. As she entered, she opened the light only to see a chair disappear right in front of her. She rubbed her eyes, thinking she must have imagined it, but she had to admit it had really gone. She could see the marks of the chair on the bare wooden floor; it had been there alright. And now it wasn't anymore. Rushing through the books in the library she found little help, until she ran into a photo album. She stared long at its pictures, turning each page with care, as the album seemed quite ancient. It showed pictures of what seemed to be a baby Ozymandias, but curiously, always alone. Was Ozymandias an orphan then? But that could not be; orphans spent all vacations at school, taken in charge by the teachers who were appointed their charge, yet she distinctly remembered Ozymandias leaving for the break as he was the very first one to leave - in the middle of a history class, at that, before school was even over! She flipped through the album more carefully this time, searching for some kind of clue, and one picture in particular caught her attention; it was not as neatly placed as all the others. Its crooked sides revealed something under. A picture overlaid by another. Quickly, she flipped the transparant protection and lifted the picture. Under she saw some blurry figures and what seemed like a gust of red, yellow and brown, and a lot of smoke around the people. She tried to study it better under the light but could not make much of the fuzzy figures. She put it back as best as she could, and then, curious to see if there were any more of these, she lifted the one next to it. At first it did not register to her head -- but then she saw it and gasped. A dragon! Ozymandias, it seemed, had been adopted by a Dragon! Which would explain the strange things that happened into his room! Dragons were greatly feared in this school for with a light breath of air and fire, they could make an entire house crumble under the flames. They had no respect for the fragile beings and had made the headlines only a year ago after burning a whole bridge down while flying over it. Dozens of pedestrian animals had perished and the dragons had never been caught. Could it be, Millie thought, that Ozymandia's secrecy even in his private photo album was in fact triggered by a desire to hide a criminal? But then Millie thought back at Ozymandia's behavior and noticed although he seldom showed encouragement words towards others, or any altruist action, he did not pose any threat to any being, either. He had never shown aggressiveness in a fit of anger, or shown cruelty towards anyone. Realizing this, Millicent felt guilty. She put back the album on the shelf and took a few steps back. She then felt a new sense of excitement overwhealm her. Was it not said, through the folktales she had been told as a child, that dragons had secret passways leading to other worlds? That they could not only fly but even just walk through objects that acted like portals - wardrobes, doorframes, windows - and arrive in other lands? She ran to the mahogany closet and opened it. She could hear her heart beat resonnate in her ribs. Her tail swayed left and right in rapid movements. Her claws were out and sharp, as they became whenever she would hunt back in the golden fields at home. She took a deep breath and put a paw into the wardrobe. Than another, and then the two others, quick, her eyes closed. When she opened them, however, she felt stupid; she was surrounded not by faraway lands, tall dark oak trees and grey mountains and abysees. Instead, she laid hiden inside a furniture, dumbly staring at pieces of cloth hanging above her. She came out of the armoire, disappointed, and closed its fine-looking doors. Rather sooner than she would have liked it, dinner had been over, and voices now filled in the passageway. Uneager to get caught in the boys' wings, Millie dashed to the exit and had a look at the hallway. It was too late already to escape unseen. The floor was swarming with young boys whose bellies were all full of rich ouzo and other fine spirits, and of mouth-watering food. They walked slowly, as if any effort was made harder by their round shapes, and little groups clustered together at certain doors, resuming their talk before they scattered. Ozymandias was amongst the gathering stationed only three doors down the hall. Millie knew getting caught so late in this area of the school meant two things : first, some kind of punishment from the custodial responsible, which was so strict on frequentations. She and Ozymandias had, in fact, already infringed the code of conduct twice in the past twenty four hours; students were expected either to be alone or in groups of three and more, especially when it came to boys and girls, for what the institution had called "safety precautions". Second, there would no doubt be trouble with the bullies. A girl alone in the boys' wing could only mean trouble. She thought of Quendal, and Fons, and Cedric and her heart sank. Their doors were midway between Ozymandias' room and the common room, which she needed to cross to get to her own room. The prospect of a black eye not appealing much, she turned around and thought some more. Ozymandias had been busy listening to others speak and grinning at their jokes, and like usual he himself was rather quiet and unspoken, and so he had failed to notice the intruder in his room. Crossing next to him and in front of Quendal's room was completely out of question. That left only one option : hiding. As soon as that thought erupted through her mind, she heard the chatter die, and the lights being dimmed in the hallway; this was the last call for bedtime, and seized with pannick, she returned to the wardrobe and fussed over its doors, which would not open. Anytime now Ozymandias would walk in and see her there, like a coward trying to hide on the scene of the crime. The door opened and in the last moment she slipped behind the heavy beige curtains. Once there, she could hear him no more, and curious to see whether he was still there, she peered out from the drape and saw Ozymandias, who surely enough, had stepped into his room. He was looking for his chair and did not look too surprised when he did not find it -- occasional furniture, Millie realized, with disbelief. It was rumored that dragons had such magical furniture which vanished from their houses as randomly as they appeared in them. She had once heard that if you sat on an occasional furniture as it disappeared, you would be gone with it, although she had her doubts at whether any of this was true. Perhaps it had just been her mind playing tricks on her, and she was just projecting her wildest wishes onto Ozymandias' room. She remembered the exhilarating sensation she had felt when she had stepped into the closet, her eyes closed. For a fraction of seconds, she had imagined that everything was possible, after all. That she could find a way to escape this boredom and meaningless life to run away in countries filled with adventures and new, friendly people. Just as vivid was the memory of her eyes opening to find only the same dull oak doors in front of her, and the suites and robes brushing her golden fur. To have really believed it possible to live something less banal and more true had stirred up feelings she was unacquainted with in her, and it had made it all the more painful to get back to reality. She had but a wish now, that of getting back to her room, dive under her covers, read a good book and forget it all. And then as the thought came through her head, she saw Ozy looking up from the table in front of him, and scared to be noticed, she hid her face back into the folds of the silk and unwittingly started the beginning of a journey as she took a step back, and realized there was no more wall behind her. She whirled around only to find darkness and an immense fear and excitement, a mix of apprehension and hope came over her as she realized she had finally found what she had stopped looking for : the parallel world hidden in Ozymandias' bedroom lay right in front of her, inviting yet forbidden.