Casimir wasn't a man prone to fascination, he had very little time for it. It was perhaps an odd trait for someone who made their living from stories to be so narrowly focused on reality. He had not always been so, but the wonderful fantasies and fairytales that had filled his mind growing up were not the stories he made a meager living creating now.
The public liked books, now that the printing press was common enough for them to afford to buy them they bought thousands, what they did not like was literature, so instead Casimir produced reams of the worst pulp entertainment, mostly about highwaymen for some reason and every day his grander imaginations faded a little further from reach.
He would have been quite surprised to learn that he was being observed as he sat, glaring down at a blank page on his desk as if expecting it to leap up and try to bite him.
__________________
"The great delusion has to end.
Although it's pleasant to pretend
We need to fall from grace.
We need to learn to face life again."
|