The New Novel

All at once I know where I am, and I know who this man is. This is a scrying chamber, and he is the scrying father, the father who watches over us all, almost like God. He’s second only to the Holy Father in the Temple. Power comes from wishing, but all things come from seeing true. It’s carved into the Temple pediments.
My throat goes dry. Why has he called me here? What has he seen me do that I shouldn’t have done?
The sphere is glassy now, but the scrying father has his back to me. He’s watching something in another direction. It could be near or far in the city, it’s all one to him; he can see all the way to the desert, so they say. Then the sphere and throne swivel, and he’s facing me.
I still don’t think he’s seen me. Although he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s focused further than me, on something below and beyond me down in the city. But then his focus changes, and he’s staring at me, and across his face comes a terrible sadness.
This isn’t about me. Something is terribly, horribly wrong, and that’s why I am here. That’s what he’s seen, and that’s what he’s going to tell me about, because the scrying father sees true, and he speaks the truth, always, no matter how harsh it is.
“You are Olivia,” he says. “I have seen you true.”
“Yes, Scrying Father.”
“I have seen your sister, Chloe.”

Coming in late 2017, I hope.

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All stories are wishes. All wishes, stories.