Chapter 15: Art and Magic

“You need to write all your troubled whimsies in the Book of Black Dreams.” My mother, God forbid when I knew her, would always chide me, but never really follow through. It was just that, for me, the pages were black, and maybe too dark, to even begin to compose.

“Beautiful.” With a singsong air, Daddy would admire me from afar, waiting for the worn day that I would graciously accept his invitation to attend, perhaps on a day ...