The Dream itself was tolerable, and indeed, I thought that my survival of it was the necessary indication that I had been the victor in my war with Angelique.  However, a loud knock at the door followed by the trademarked, vicious bat attack indicated that indeed, the beast was within me once more.  Refusing to stake me as requested, Julia and Willie buried me alive, instead.

Several notes…

1.  Why do bats knock at doors?

2.  Why do I answer?  (I suppose because those knocks are usually not from airborne rodents.)

3. Why do I ask people I know to be soft of spine and weak of will (apologies, Father) to destroy me?

4.  How did Willie get that grave dug so quickly?  Did he already have it ready?  Why?  Was the grave for someone else? What was supposed to happen if they’d subsequently arrived to inter a loved one?

If I seem to be taking this memory lightheartedly, it is because these particular ironies still amuse me in a time fraught by my constant peril.



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