I thought for a while, and he let me think, for I knew I would never enjoy my innocence if pyres like Lilac, like Willoughby were not permitted to enjoy theirs. How could I protect myself while leaving them to the wiles of society, to brutal men like Cranley and Duval Rennington? I could not. For I had a great luxury. In fact, it was my curse. My life—every part of it—could be quite simple, quite effortless, quite…perfect, if only I allowed it to be. And, if I did make that choice, the lives of pyres would never be bearable. Not so long as people like me chose to live perfectly.

So I took Alexander’s hand and I put it around my waist. I was ready for whatever it was he had planned. This new way of showing me the world of pyres.

He kissed me then, his soft lips pressing against mine until my eyes closed with the pleasure of it. Until…he pulled away. And he put his hands tighter around my waist, holding fast as he stepped off the edge of the cliff, taking me with him.

Episode 88: In A Lake Quite Random

In truth, cold and heat are only present in the mind. They are not real things. Only sensations which we interpret and to which we attribute emotion. In more plain words, one must choose whether to feel hot or to feel cold and whether to be happy or sad about either decision.

Strangeness of all stranges, when I plunged into the lake, with Alexander’s arms still around me, I felt neither the swell of warmth nor the shock of cold. And I cannot say I felt nothing. That would be untrue. Inaccurate, by far. I felt an evenness. As if the water around me were no different than the water inside me.

We did not kick or swim, which did not alarm me until I felt a burn in my lungs, a desperate need for air. But when I attempted to free myself from Alexander so I could make my way to the surface and claim that desperate, relieving gasp for precious air, Alexander intended to me.

<<Wait. You must wait>>.

Oh, but I could not wait. How could I? For I was, in all regards, a simply human woman. And by such classification, I required air in my lungs for even the most basic living purposes. I sought to thrash against the devilish pyre—for I was all at once understanding why Vincent was so keen to warn me against him and why even Rosemary frowned at first, when he was discovered—to scratch his face and eyes until he released me.

<<My dear…do not withhold. Do not. You must trust if you wish to be trusted>>.