Semi-Daily Scribbles

Véronique's dream is much more than it seems on the surface. The short version she shares with willing listeners is she finds herself at the top of a long, winding staircase. She's dressed in a beaded burgundy ball gown and elbow length white gloves. Her slippers are made of diamonds. They feel like feathers against her feet. Véronique, in this recurring dream, slowly descends the twisting steps until she reaches the bottom. A shimmering silver lake stretches out before her where terrazzo ought to be. A heart-shaped silk pillow floats by, waist high, with parchment, quill, and inkpot nestled carefully within its folds. Véronique picks up the quill to write. This is all she remembers before the dream fades and she is once again awake. Véronique's willing listeners nod knowingly and offer interpretations along the lines of, "You desire the fine things in life," and "You stand on the shores of the Unknown, waiting…contemplating."

Véronique never reveals what it is she writes on the parchment. Time and time again, without fail, Véronique inscribes the how, where, and why of each willing listener's demise. She smiles as she seals the fate of so many with quick strokes and dashes of wickedness.