Key Of Knowledge by Nora Roberts

wood and onto sunbaked sand. Gulls cried as they wheeled overhead, and the sound of them echoing was a kind of chant.
    She felt the powdery grit of the sand under her bare feet, and the teasing way her thin silk wrap fluttered around her legs.
    She walked to the water, then along its edge, basking in the beauty of the solitude.
    She could go wherever she wanted, or nowhere at all.All those years of responsibility and work, of schedules and obligations, were behind her now.
    Why had she ever thought they mattered so much?
    The water rolled toward shore, foamy lace at its edges, then waltzed back into its own heart with a sigh. She saw the silver flash and leap of dolphins at play, and beyond, so far beyond, the delicate line of the horizon.
    It was perfect and peaceful and lovely. And so liberating to know she was completely alone.
    She wondered why she’d ever felt compelled to work so hard, to worry, to care about what should be or had to be done, when all she really wanted was to be alone in a world of her own choosing.
    A world, she understood without any sense of surprise or wonder, that she could change with a thought or on a whim.
    There was no heartache unless she wished for it, no company unless she created it. Her life could spin out—color and movement and quiet and sound—like the pages of a book that never had to end.
    If she wanted a companion, she had only to imagine one. Lover or friend.
    But really, she needed no one but herself. People brought problems, responsibilities, baggage, needs that were not her own. Life was so much simpler in solitude.
    Her lips curved with contentment as she wandered along the sickle curve of beach where the only footprints were hers, toward the lush green shade of palms and trees heavy with fruit.
    Cooler here, because she wished it to be. Soft, soft grass beneath her feet, sprinkles of sunlight through the fronds overhead, and the sharp, bright flash of birds with feathers the rich colors of jewels.
    She plucked fruit from a branch—a mango, of course—and took the first sweet, juicy bite.
    It was chilled, almost icy cold, just the way she liked it best, rather than warmed by that streaming sun.
    She lifted her arms, saw they were tanned a smooth and dusky gold, and when she looked down she grinned to see her toes were painted a bold and celebrational pink.
    Exactly right, she realized. That’s exactly what I wanted.
    Her mind began to wander as she roamed through the glade, watched goldfish dance in a pool of clear blue water. She wanted the fish to be red as rubies, and they were. Green as emeralds, and they became so.
    The wonderful flash of bright color in the water made her laugh, and at the sound of it, birds—more jewels—glided into that perfect bowl of sky.
    This could be her forever place, she realized, changing only as she wished it to change. Here, she would never hurt again, or need, or be disappointed.
    Everything would always be just the way she wanted it to be . . . until she wanted it to be different.
    She lifted the mango again, and a thought passed through her mind: But what will I do here, day after day?
    She seemed to hear voices, just the murmur of them, far off. Even as the breeze kicked up, whisked them away, she turned, looked back.
    Flowers tangled on lush green vines. Fruit dripped, glossy as gems, from the delicate branches of trees. The sound of the surf, a seductive whisper, shivered through the air.
    She stood, alone, in the paradise she had made.
    â€œNo.”
    She said it out loud, as a kind of test.
    This isn’t right. This isn’t who I am, isn’t what I want.
    The fruit she held slipped out of her fingers and hit the ground at her feet with an ugly splat. Her heart jolted in her chest as she saw it was rotten at the core.
    The colors around her were too harsh, she realized, the textures too flat. Like a stage set, like standing on an elaborate set built for an endless play.
    â€œThis is a