What’s your name?” He asked in return. I saw her face and it was the face that had been hidden from me in dreams, a face very much like yours, Lucia. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. You cannot—shall not retreat. “I should think YOU could do all sorts of things. “Pellissier,” she repeated thoughtfully. ‘Housebreaking, Hilary? I take the matter of housebreaking very seriously, I’ll have you know.
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