for @stairwaythoughts (Cecile & Cyrano)
Of all of her bohemian literary contemporaries here in Paris, Cyrano was her favorite. He was articulate in his critique of her writing and helpful in bedazzling her prose, she concerned herself more with facts than with expression, though her passion and wit blossom naturally. But more than that he took her seriously, and he was a riot to be around. They would sit at the same corner table at the same bar, or go hopping from place to place, talking for hours on end into the night.
He was a confidant, a riot, and most important of all, a friend. She'd have so much fun with him that she never noticed when people stared.
"I admire Reuben Briggs-Davenport, don't get me wrong, but his book has turned out to hardly be a death blow to spiritualism." It has caused quite a buzz, the book in Cecile's lap, the tell-all account of two ex-mediums who revealed that their communication with the dead was nothing more than a party trick.
"The others immediately disputed every claim, saying Maggie is insane and Kate is a drunk as if they hadn't done enough to those poor women..." She bitterly muttered, tightening her fingers around her glass. "Crack transcendentalists... I think they know I've been following in his footsteps here, calling me an 'ignoramus to the unseen world', as if I'm too stupid to know that ghosts are real. I understand fantasy has its place, but there are some realities that shouldn't be escaped from with false hope, especially by lining their pockets."
