Whoever had commissioned this photo—likely Madame Plutard—had loved these girls and wanted them to be captured as she saw them. Studying the girls’ hopeful faces, Lara saw them that way as well. “They’re beautiful,” said Lara. Both of their small, heart-shaped mouths were slightly slack, as though something was distracting them beyond the camera. The photo was the most heartbreaking thing Lara had ever seen—no, felt was a better word—because she felt this photo pulling her in from another time. From their faces, she could feel the suffering of these poor children. Lara counted the tiny satin slippers that dangled down from the chair—three. Closing her eyes, Lara imagined them struggling to walk. Then she knew. A protective feeling overcame her. This child belonged to her—was imprinted on her as the origin of her family. She looked over at Cecile, whose hands were folded in front of her and whose face showed no emotion, like she had hardened herself to the story.

“I didn’t know what to do with my little creature… I wondered who would take care of it for me. I looked at my damned souls and thought, Well, Althacazur, that’s a pretty groovy idea. So I grabbed a group of performers and assembled them with the idea that they would care for it, along with Madame Plutard, who had proven herself so loyal to Juno.” He spun on his heels. “That worked until they began to grow up.” He looked at his nails. “I hate things that aren’t fun, Lara, really I do. So I cut them in half, creating two of them—liberating them from each other. Now, mind you, there were some issues. It wasn’t clean, but inside the circus, I created a place of illusion.”

Cecile looked down, like this part of the tale was painful for her to hear. Lara couldn’t imagine having to endure this story.

As if on cue, he said, “Cecile, my love, perhaps you’d rather not hear this.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Continue. For years, I longed for these answers and you refused me.”

Contrite, he motioned for Lara to join him. Cecile followed.

“Tisdale, Tisdale. It’s safe now,” said Althacazur as he left the center ring. “The monsters are all in their cages.”

As they walked, Lara couldn’t help but glance over at Cecile. She was beautiful, ethereal. “I read your diaries.” Lara wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not, and she sounded like some fan or groupie.

“I know,” Cecile said, smiling. “I had him send them to you. All along, I was writing them for you. I just didn’t know it at the time.” In person, Cecile was shorter and slighter than Lara, but their faces had a similarity—the strong jaw, the upturned nose, the green eyes.