Sage closes her
eyes and sighs. “Are you always watching me? Am I ever to be left alone?” She
is getting tired of his disappearing and reappearing act.
His expression
does not change and he ignores her question. “Have you found anything
tangible?”
She avoids the
temptation to walk away, to a busy place out of the shadows of the tents, where
he would be unable to speak to her and expect a reply without causing a stir.
“Nothing yet. Bensiabel seems fond of everything. I think he knows it is more than
illusion. He seems particularly to love the fortune teller. But I haven’t-“ She
breaks off, unsure if she convinced herself of her mentors very slight reaction
to the mention of the fortune teller or not. For a sliver of a second, his
impassiveness has wavered. She decides she must have imagined it.
“There are too
many cracks in this exhibition to remain unnoticed. You must notice them, as I
doubt anyone else will,” he says.
“Then why do you
care at all?” she asks.
“They will not
notice yet. When they will, they will have far worse reactions than you.”
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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