If there is a life after this one, let me meet you in it.
I was feeling mreepy, so Cassandra Jean drew me some fanart. It’s rather sad, but I was needing catharsis — I know I’ve talked about catharsis on this blog before, about why there is a pleasure in books that make us weep. Why a good cry is called a good cry.
Anyway, CJ has a great talent for capturing emotion in the line of a hand, or the curve of a drawn smile. I have that admiration for her art that you have for something you could never ever do yourself. And she’s good at making me cry. :)
This isn’t a scene I plan to write, or even could write. It doesn’t take place in the pages of a book. It concerns things I don’t even pretend I know about (the existence of God?) It’s a piece of fantasy involving the mortal characters of The Infernal Devices. It could be a dream of Jem’s. It could be a dream of Will’s. I’d like to think it’s a shared dream.
It’s under the cut because 1) spoilers 2) FEELS.
You have been warned.
- Tessa: Is something wrong?
- Will: No, I simply—I did not bring you here that I might maul you in the Whispering Gallery.
- Tessa: I am not asking you to maul me in the Whispering Gallery! But by the Angel, Will, would you stop being so polite?
- Will: But wouldn’t you rather—
- Tessa: I would not rather. I don’t want you to be polite! I want you to be Will! I don’t want you to indicate points of architectural interest to me as if you were a Baedeker guide! I want you to say dreadfully mad, funny things and make up songs and be— the Will I fell in love with— And be Will. Or I shall hit you with my umbrella.
- Will: I am trying to court you. Court you properly. That’s what all this has been about. You know that, don’t you?
- Tessa: Mr. Rochester never courted Jane Eyre.
- Will: No, he dressed up as a woman and terrified the poor girl out of her wits. Is that what you want?
- Tessa: You would make a very ugly woman.
- Will: I would not. I would be stunning.
- Tessa: There. There is Will. Isn’t that better? Don’t you think so?
- Will: I don’t know. I’m afraid to answer that. I’ve heard that when I speak, it makes American women wish to strike me with umbrellas.
