You can laugh, if you like. Fictional characters aren’t real people. They’re nothing but figments of your own imagination. Nobody dies for real when you kill off a darling or two. Laugh, go ahead. I had to stand at the window, stare out at the dismal day, and cry a bit.
Now, I’ve made coffee, toasted raisin bread and turned the computer back on. All kinds of fictional complications ahead. The day remains dismal out there and none of the practical things I must do inspire a surge of song or a soaring bit of dancing. Ho-hum. One class this afternoon on the fascinating topic of butchering. Admin stuff for myself and others. Soaring will have to wait. Or get reinvented, somehow.
Precious few men in my life, these days. Lots of us women, forging on, forging on, forging on. Gets tedious, at times.