Page 22 of The Unseelie War
“Oh yes,” she said without hesitation. “Terrified. Everything was so chaotic, so loud and bright and wrong. I felt like I was drowning in confusion.” She paused, studying his face. “Why?”
He paused for a long moment, as if debating whether or not to answer her. Finally, he shrugged. “I spent nearly two millennia questioning the nature of my own existence. Wondering if my thoughts, my feelings, my very sense of self was real or merely an elaborate delusion created by isolation and madness.”
“And what conclusion did you reach?”
“That the question itself was meaningless. Consciousness is consciousness, regardless of its origin. The capacity to think, to feel, to choose—these things have value independent of how they came to be.” His golden eyes were focused out toward the front of the store and not on anyone else.
Bitty had been listening intently to this conversation. “So you don't think less of me? For being…what I am?”
“I would have to dismiss myself as well in the same breath, little one. I may have been ‘born’ real, but I was rendered unto a dream. I am of the same cloth as you.” His response was simple and left no room for argument.
“And you’re my friend.” She smiled. “Imaginary or not.” For the first time since they found her, Bitty smiled for real. In a way that stuck.
Mrs. Crumplebottom bustled back to her tea service. "Well then, that's settled. Now, I insist you all sit down and have a proper cuppa before you go back out into that utter nonsense out there.”
Yeah. They could do that.
They spent the next hour in the warm cocoon of the bookstore, drinking tea that tasted exactly like comfort should taste and listening to Mrs. Crumplebottom tell stories from her childhood. Some of the stories were clearly ripped off from classic published stories that Ava recognized. But no one was rude enough to call her out on it.
Toward the end of the hour, Mrs. Crumplebottom looked up at the bookshelves with a wistful smile. “The lovely thing about a bookstore that exists in three realities is that I now have access to stories that span all of them. Fiction and non-fiction, histories that happened and histories that could have happened, love stories between humans and romances between beings of pure energy.” She gestured at a section where books were literally glowing. “It's quite overwhelming, but also wonderful.”
“Do you think you’re going to be okay?” Ava frowned. “Once we go?”
“Oh, yes dear. Come what may, I will be quite fine.” Mrs. Crumplebottom considered her next words while refilling their cups. “You know, I think the key is remembering that change has always been the only constant. People age, neighborhoods evolve, technologies advance. The scale of the change might be unprecedented, but thefundamental experience—of adapting, of finding your place in a new world—that's as old as time itself.”
Sadly, it was time to go. They had shit to do, and Ava's responsibilities as the Weaver weren't going to address themselves. But the bookstore had given them something invaluable—a reminder that even in chaos, there could be pockets of peace.
“Yousureyou’re going to be all right?” Ava asked Mrs. Crumplebottom as they prepared to go.
“I have my books and plenty of tea.” She smiled. “Plus, I suspect I'll have other visitors who need a safe place to sit and think. That's what bookstores are for.”
Bitty hugged the older woman tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”
“No, I think it’s me who has to thank you for bringing me into existence. It's been quite an adventure already.” She chuckled. “To think. Little old me, on an adventure.”
As they left the bookstore, Ava found herself thinking about Mrs. Crumplebottom's words. Change as the only constant. Finding your place in a new world. Maybe that was the key to navigating this merged reality—not trying to force it back into familiar patterns, but learning to adapt and find beauty in the unprecedented.
“How oddly remarkable,” Serrik said as they walked back onto the chaotic street. "Both of them. The ease with which they've accepted their circumstances, to so quickly grasp meaning in such uncertainty…”
“Meaning beyond ‘mass genocide’ like some people we know? Yeah.” She grinned up at him. “But I get your point. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the disaster it looks like. If a solution doesn’t present itself, anyway.”
“Hm.” He smirked down at her. “I suspect you may discover the bookstore was an oasis of calm in a very turbulent st?—”
Great timing.
As if to prove his point, the sound of distant screaming echoedfrom somewhere to the north, accompanied by what sounded like a very large creature roaring in anger.
“Right. Perfect. Love it.” Ava sighed. “Back to crisisfuckingmanagement. Bitty, are you ready for this?”
The tiny fae straightened her shoulders in unconscious mimicry of Mrs. Crumplebottom's gesture earlier. “Ready,” she said, and her voice was steadier than it had been since they'd found her.
Ava smiled. She was pretty sure that was a lie. But Bitty seemed to want to believe it. And just like her own existence?
Sometimes, believing was enough.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The screaming grew louder as they moved north through the transformed city, and with it came a sound that made Ava's teeth hurt—something between a roar and the screech of metal being torn apart. Whatever was making that noise was big, angry, and probablyextremelydangerous.
