Poor old Mersault, it is a shame isn't it? What a veritable icon in the classic gallery of "babygirls". A man who was thrust upon such a situation with only his best made attempts at unraveling it.

You pour yourself into the book like always, the text and pages flowing through your vision like a well traveled path in the midst of the sea. Sharpening your mind like a sword, the pen might hold it's place in such a regard, but it is necessary to punctuate it with some more close quarter action.

The wind whistles nearby softly, the clouds in the sky seem to have parted momentarily, and from the corner of your eyes, a yellow light illuminates the room as best it can.

Some of the leaves from your flora collection swaying weakly, perhaps it is time to water them?

....Time, how long has it been again?

Approaching, you scroll up to reveal another conversation that was being had in all this time. It's gone on for longer than before, and there's too much to catch up on again, you resign to see the latest messages.