And what am I supposed to feel?  She fled from me near the rocks, and as she ran and as the waves churned, memories of the terrible events that led to Josette’s death crashed within me.  But instead of a death, she ran into the embrace of Mr. Samuel Evans, the father-avatar of this place.  His joy and relief at seeing her once more was matched only by her own.  It was a joy I was never to provide nor savor.  Such is my lot.

I must now countenance the potential that she was never Josette.  Or else, the veil between Josette and Margaret was far more opaque than I ever imagined.  I must find out more.  This age?  This place?  This hell into which I’ve been cast?  I cannot go to my solar demise without knowing its secrets.

Upon my attempt to investigate her fate at the local hospital, I learned that she, indeed, died.  Yes, Barnabas, you’ve gotten your way.

My only sustenance smacks of copper and fear and that terminal loneliness known only to me and my victims.  Fitting that my victories would share the same, foul flavor.





One Comment on “261”

  1. mrsgreenhands June 9, 2013 at 6:06 pm #

    Reblogged this on Mrsgreenhands’s Weblog.

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