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chapter twelve she whose mind wanders
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There were only two types of people in the world. Izzy Windsor was sure of that notion. You see, she liked to think of people as if they were songs. You could tell a lot about a person by the music they listened to, and she stood by that. Because when you thought about it there were the people who just listened to the music, and then there were the people who spent hours overanalyzing the lyrics, trying to resonate with the words. The latter were the type of people who could just feel the music rather than just listening to it to fill the silence.
People who just listened to the music, the meaning going over their head as they did, could care less for the lyrics as long as it had a good beat and it was easy to dance to. The people who watched her on her website were those types of people. They didn't care about the music she played in the background; they just saw a pretty girl and tuned out the world. They were the ones who walked the earth without a care in the world. Izzy found herself envying those people from time to time.
Then there were the people who didn't just listen to the music. These people tended to be more analytical; the type to pour their whole soul into something they were passionate about even if they received nothing in return. They were the type to know the meaning of their favorite songs, and latch onto them as if they were their lifeline. Izzy was one of those people. She liked music almost as much as she liked art.
Music gave her a sense of direction; a sense of freedom. No one could take that away from her. But in being one of those people, Izzy had discovered one thing. She quickly realized sometimes things just found her when she needed them to find her. She believed that. For her, the lyrics to particular songs just found her at the right moments in her life, but other things found her, too.
Being one of those people who always looked for the deeper meaning behind everything had landed her in this situation with the search for the gold from the Royal Merchant. Had she been the other type, she probably would have rolled her eyes at the thought of going on a wild goose chase. But she wasn't. She was the type to overanalyze everything, and take stupid things like stumbling upon a conversation she wasn't supposed to hear as a sign.
