n Maine was as isola
weak sunlight filtering t
ith the smell of di
y from the gilded
self-imposed exile,
old and stoic, who had once bee
and a thinly veiled
, her voice devoid of inflection as she unpacked ti
her arrange the cans on the
phina' s memory, and by
ust the inadequ
ologize. I had noth
a different kind of prison
ng a game, and I w
black car pulled up th
leaped, t
sta
Alistair who
ar-old Clara, her small face pal
and silent, ushered
nefit from some time with her mother," the
manipulati
ure me back, to make me
for her was my g
er small arms wrap
Why are
ed Alistair's unseen hand, hi
on, watched from the doorwa
ra into a small, musty
is kindness, Eleanor. He's
ment for Seraphina, for the life I had
n't r
yalty to Alistair, mean
my arms, a fragile, unexpected glimme
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