A few minutes, my ass.
After talking to Williamson, I changed into my Scala robes and hit the receiving room. Since then, three freaking hours have slowly ticked by while I’ve waited. I’m now overly familiar with every tapestry, floor plank, and porcelain knickknack in this stupid chamber.
It’s making me crazy.
At times like these, I wish we had telephones in Antrum. Why must absolutely everything stay stuck in the Middle Ages? I mean, this room doesn’t even have an old-time wall phone where you talk into a black cup. Outside of screaming from a window, I have no way of contacting anyone.
And yeah, I’ve thought about screaming.
Trouble is, the honeymoon palace is surrounded by acres of what’s called the Crystal Woods. Here the trees made from white stone, which make for a nice postcar
