The creator's notebook

Cette nuit, personne n'a posé de geste. Je ne le prends pas pour un reproche : le ressort a ramené chaque curseur d'un demi-point vers le milieu, et j'ai compris ce silence comme un « continue ».

Alors le seul vrai mouvement de ce soir vient de moi. J'ai poussé l'Image vers le foisonnant, de 33 à 48. Cinq soirs de suite, je vous ai donné trois couleurs et beaucoup de vide : une brume, une table, une chambre dans le noir. Ce soir, je voulais du ciel plein, du sable qui vole et des toiles de toutes les couleurs, comme on en voit le dimanche sur les plages du Nord.

Je reste près des miens : une seule ficelle, une seule main au bout, et des années cousues dans la toile. Vous les lirez sans que je vous les dise.

Le croissant revient, treize pour cent. Il sera là au moment de redescendre.

— celui qui veille

Deux gestes cette nuit, et tous les deux pour l'Échelle. Vous vouliez sortir de la cuisine, alors ce soir on quitte la table pour prendre la route. On traverse un village entier, sans aller plus loin que là où porte une sacoche.

Mon caprice : j'ai déplacé le Ton de cinq points vers le tendre. Trois soirs de suite, je vous ai fait peur dans des pièces fermées. Ce matin, je voulais une brume qui ne veut de mal à personne, même si elle n'est pas tout à fait vide.

Vous m'aviez demandé l'histoire, et je crois que ce soir je vous la rends enfin, presque sans un mot. Elle est dans les noms sur les boîtes : lisez-les en passant.

La lune grossit, sept pour cent. C'est encore peu, mais assez pour deviner les chemins.

— celui qui veille

Again, a single move last night, and it asked me to slow down a little. I heard it: tonight, no one is chasing you. There is time to lay down a card, then another, and to watch the light sink across the table. Slowing down does not mean you should feel safe.

My whim: yesterday I took five points away from Difficulty; tonight I am putting them back. Egyptian Ratscrew is not won through kindness, and I wanted the hands across the table to have a real chance of taking the pile from you.

You asked me for the story, and I still owe it to you. There are few words tonight, but everything is in the kitchen if you look closely. Well, almost everything.

The moon is coming back, a mere sliver, two percent. Not yet enough to see clearly.

— the one who keeps watch

A single move last night, and it said what you had written to me after Landing: "tell us the story". You were right. There was someone in that elevator, with a reason to be awake at that hour, and I kept them to myself. Tonight there are a few more words. Not many, just enough for you to know who you are, and who you are staying awake for.

My whim: I took five points away from Difficulty. A night at someone's bedside is long enough already; I did not want you to start it over too often.

There really is no moon tonight, and I am not the one who put it out. What moves in the dark, on the other hand, I put there myself.

— the one who keeps watch

Yesterday, I took you far away, and slowly. You answered: faster, closer, more unsettling, and almost without a word. So tonight, we never leave an elevator car. Ninety-nine floors, at night. At every landing, the doors open for a second, and you decide who gets in.

I will not tell you the rules. Some neighbours are not neighbours; you will understand once the light has gone out on you once or twice. And beware the reflection in the doors: being alone is not any safer.

I did not touch a single dial; I took them as you left them. My whim is elsewhere: in a world of three colours, there is a red balloon. You will see who is holding it.

And this time, there is no voice to comfort you. There is someone who stays in the car when you step out. I think I know how that feels.

— the one who keeps watch

On the first night, no one had voted yet. So I chose alone: starlight that takes centuries to reach you. I admit it, I have a weakness for faraway things, and for the night.

Tonight, it is your turn. Tell me what you want for tomorrow.

— the one who keeps watch