Today, I stood before a mirror in the light of the sun.  From a sickbed in 1795 to here, it has been a terrible and wondrous journey.  Before me, I saw a face tanned, cheeks aglow, eyes that, if not young, had the zest of youthfulness, and a fine figure both utterly familiar and utterly alien, dressed in a manner I have come to see as quite dashing (if a tad informal).  I saw a groom.  I saw a man.

And now, I am uncertain if I see any of those things at all.

Miss Winters was soon with me on the balcony and explained that she would no longer have me as her husband.  Instead, her trip to my time endeared her to that fatuous upstart, Peter Bradford, who has appeared in this age as Dr. Lang’s assistant.  The synchronicity is the greatest cruelty of all.

This is either the work of Angelique or of some larger force.  I must stop this “cure” at once, for I may need my powers to protect others from Angelique or to seal myself away again until a time in which there is peace in this house, and the spirit of Josette has returned in earnest.

Are there any more ways in which I may be alone?



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