“We didn’t want to be separated from each other. We begged him not to do it. Madame Plutard went to the White Forest for throwing herself on us to try to stop him. Each fortnight the circus ran, I had to kill a man to keep up the illusion he wanted. I had to do whatever was required to get them near. When I first started killing, we were ten and I’d feign being hurt. I felt bad because it was always the kind ones who came over. Then as I got older it wasn’t the kind ones. Yet our father didn’t care about me. He didn’t care about us. Once, I asked if we could send you instead. Just for one night. Do you know what he said? ‘Cecile couldn’t bear it.’ All because you looked like our mother.” Marla laughed.

Something occurred to Cecile. “It was you who sent the mirror to me, wasn’t it? I thought it was a trick—some poor creature was trapped in there.”

“That poor creature in the mirror of truth was you, my dear. That’s why we couldn’t be drawn. We weren’t real. Like the way you made fun of me with my cats. That was us, as well. You were the one who couldn’t see it. And although they thought they painted us in our illusive forms, the painters and photographers captured us as we really were. Father couldn’t have them seeing those, so he’d erase the paintings and expose the film before morning. You claimed you wanted all the answers, but in the end you couldn’t even gaze upon yourself. You covered the mirror.” Marla searched Lara’s face for a glimmer of Cecile.

“And are you happy now?” Lara had tears in her eyes. The emotion was all Cecile. “You killed Émile Giroux, Desmond Bennett, Peter Beaumont, and Todd Sutton—tormenting my family for decades. I certainly have blamed myself for being sheltered. But I am not the one to blame here. You are angry at Father, not me. You’re a hundred years old and yet you continue on like some living waxwork seeking revenge. Or are you so warped by your hatred that you don’t see that it is Father you should be angry at? Tell me, when will it be enough? Does this really make you feel better? Or do you just hate yourself so badly that you hate me, too? We may be divided, but we are still one creature. Is it yourself you truly hate?”