A work of pure personal indulgence. You ask if I've written it well? I wrote it to my own satisfaction.
Someone dies right from the start, then, hey, they show up again later. I think it'll be no more than 120,000 words.
Finally got to the reunion, aaa. Maybe it'll be revived in July or August.
[Blurb]
Feina hates Ophelia, the woman who has shared a roof with her for more than ten years.
For a time, Feina could always forgive Ophelia for anything. Ophelia was the sun standing between her and harm, so Feina depended on her, admired her, and even imitated her. But the berry scent on Feina's clothes grew increasingly rotten, no longer fresh, becoming cloying and repulsive. Feina became Ophelia's opposite, and finally realized that she had become that serpent of the sun.
She disappeared, and was more likely dead.
Feina doesn't know whether Ophelia ever opened the final draft of the new book she had dedicated to her, whether she would write another observation in the margins as usual, or whether she would see Feina's name on the last page.
Ophelia needs to understand her, to look Feina in the eye, this viper winding around the statue of a god. They have yet to make peace, even though each has been asking after the other, and both want to return to that vineyard path beyond the hillside.
So Feina decides to go to the Ring of Mist and find Ophelia again.
[Reader's Guide]
A work of pure personal indulgence, full of love and hate.
A strange kind of memoir for a dead wife, and a search for a wife.
Self-produced and self-consumed, with the story moving forward at a slow pace.
Theme: To hate someone is to accept all of them, including the parts they deny.
