Sarah.  I can admit it to no one, but Sarah is here.  If she is not, then these clues I’m being given are the cruelest torment of all.  Josette, Angelique, Jeremiah, mother… we were all adults.  All of us had volition.  Sarah’s sin was one of simply loving her brother too much.  To have her back?  To bring her to life?  This would balance the scales in ways unimaginable.  For now, I cannot brook the possibility, for then its opposite might also be true, and were I to be taunted with Sarah’s form only to find her an illusion?  I would gladly march into the sunrise and be thankful for the excruciating end.

Just as I am protective of Sarah, so is Young Loomis of Miss Winters.  He warned her away from spending the night, and I was planning new and unusual forms of cane-related punishments when I saw that he is as protective of her as was I of Sarah.  Perhaps my rage at him comes from the fact that he is a successful defender of them, whereas I failed Sarah.  This does worse than retard my plans, it insults me by implication.  I deserve the upbraid.

In retelling the tales of old, I am indeed trying to draw Miss Winters into the real world more and more.  However, I must maintain some semblance of a naif, thus I’ve begin to shuffle the facts just enough to negate excess scrutiny.


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