• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 03
Image by


You have last seen us in mythology. We were there with Ulysses. We were there to help him. We sang more than enough. We made him who he is. We are here for you too. You, safe, sound, serene in a bathtub that could be the ocean, if you wanted to. We seek no trouble. Just a reminder, that's what we represent. Over blue and green and silver-dipped waves, across translucent horizons of the folly, over blank pages no longer purely white as they were, adorning crowned heads visible only to the bearer: you shall find us there. Look at us. We disturb and make noise. We heal. And we disappear. We transplant ourselves and we flap away, in turbulence and turmoil, transforming your past into bottled wishes no one can peek into or break or shatter anymore. You, the survivor of the seas of toil. Our tails tell the secrets of the keepers of all toils. Toils are magic, you know that. The magic of life.