[9 Trandary 4261]
The Mysteries of the Artists
Tethezai is generally a person who shares and reveals. She is generous with presents of books or food or what need you. She shares personal favors with many people -- though I gather that she has become less generous with such since she fell in love with Dustweed. She is less likely to wear a robe than anyone else walking in the public rooms of our apartment.
(I, of course, do not and cannot conveniently wear a robe; I, of course, do not and cannot conveniently walk. Someday I shall cause to be built a suite of rooms which suit my size -- and therefore also the size of Orren in water-form -- and everyone else must do as best they can. But such suites are, somehow, not built for leasing in Vheshrame.)
But most of all she shares her art. She shows half-finished sketches. To the non-artist these look like entirely finished works -- but works depicting, not people, but the marks that a dozen assorted glasses would leave on a table. Congeries of carefully arranged circles and lines, mostly. Esory and Dustweed and suchlike will nod admiringly. I may ask, "This is a chalice of beer, this is a teacup without its saucer?". She will giggle and respond, "This is Dustweed's thorax, this is the half-full sun."
For which reason it is remarkable that, though she has been working on sketches for her Heroic Drawings project, she has not shown anyone.
Hmph. Zi Ri are supposed to be the most mysterious of all people, yet my life is an open book -- even to people who do not somehow get to read my diary. Yet all around me, Rassimel and Orren have their mysteries. I must acquire some of my own.