The Silver Pine Inn

Isabela looked at the sheriff,his mind still in a haze from the information that she obtained; and what she had to do to obtain it.

"Are you alright there Sheriff, perhaps you should sit down?"

To My Esteemed Solicitor Augustine Dewey IV, Esquire,

Mr, Dewey, enclosed you will find, as is traditional, my weekly pay to be put into trust for the upkeep of my mother. As for the additional funds, Two hundred and twenty dollars in total, I wish you to make a purchase of stock in Union Blue Railroad. That is two hundred dollars for the purchase of the stock and fifteen dollars to cover your own fees, plus 5 dollars extra for the bother of converting the Colorado currency into the more acceptable Union Greenback.

Isabela, made her way back into the back room of the boarding house... picked her seat up off the floor and pointed it in the direction of the hole in the wall.

She sat down, a lot had happened in this room .. she could still feel the lingering magic. There was no logical explanation for all of this, something Jimmy was looking for since he'd asked several times what happened.

As this night approaches, I find myself on edge a little bit.

I know a bit about rituals, both from the spectator point of view and participants view.

They require three things....

Firstly, they require a connection. While it's not difficult to create a connection these days; the stronger the connection the more likely the ritual will start successfully. There's a few different things that can affect this; the state of the moon and what the leader is wearing are the common things; this is why whiches of old used to dance naked in the moonlight.

James was sitting at the piano, which had been moved into the main room of the boardinghouse. After his conversation with Isabella he must admit, her argument did have some validity. After some of the things he'd seen since he came to town it didn't hurt to have help in case anything needed to be "put down."

It was a long day, that Isabela finished like she finished every day since Rosette died; the Sheriff's attempts to pull her out of depression partially succeed when he assigned her as temporary sheriff, in that she stopped drinking herself into stupor, and was back to a 'normal' as far as consumption goes.

Tonight's change was a pair of red gloves... more to cover up the hand wound she'd given herself when fighting the tank, rather then an indication of her mental state.

I've been thinking a lot lately ... really since Rosette died. I recall the words to a poem I once read, and find them very telling at this point in my life.

... Just when I was low, feeling short of stable.
We'll forget the past, maybe I'm not able?
... I've found all that shimmers in this world, is sure to fade away.

In the end the poem's about a girl who's given up on love... which is not entirely the position that I find myself in, rather I find myself unwilling to deal with the lies anymore.