But it was not listening they wanted. I did plenty of that. It was speaking. Still, even as one so young, I knew that once I spoke, they would take great delight in telling me how to do it and then, when that failed, they would spend great effort in getting me to be silent again.

So, with my small knees pulled in tight and not even a window for my thoughts to escape through, I learned to pull each musing into me, to make friends and allies with them. And I taught them to fill my head with fantasies and characters and adventures. The old women thought I would come out of my prison a reasonable and acceptable girl at last. They did not know I would turn my prison into a majestic kingdom all my own.

The cawler, just like my old governesses, had not conceived of the world in my mind. It did not know the twists and turns of my imaginations or the dark chasms of my memories.

Distracted by my willingness to play its dreadful game, the bird drew away from Vincent’s mind and flapped itself into mine. It conjured the wailing woman once more, making the skin on my neck and arms prickle. I slowed my breathing and decided that the woman would drop into a deep hole. So down she went. And once she had fallen for some time, I had her land in a prison of pure white. Not snow or ash. Nothing so physically perceivable. Just…white. She screamed in that prison, but there was no sound. She ran, but there was no path. She pounded, but there were no doors. There was nothing. And every noise she made was eaten by that nothingness.

I wanted to help that imaginary woman. Truly, I felt sorry for tormenting her. But I reminded myself that she was not real and that Vincent was indeed real and gravely needed my help. So my discomfort at the woman’s torment was the price I would pay to save him.

A rustling in my mind told me the cawler was also uncomfortable. Regret. Great regret. For I was too calm, and my inability to become panicked meant that cawler could not feed on my fear. It made an effort to retreat and to return to Vincent, but I would not let it. Not until I was certain he was ready.

It wanted out. I wanted it in. And so the woman tried to tear the white nothingness apart with manic clawed fingers. When this did not work, she flailed her body, thrashing her limbs, ripping at her clothes and hair as she screeched.

But I held. I held until I felt cold hands on my cheeks bring my awareness back to the Hallowed Caves and the muddy ground. And then I opened my eyes as the cawler screeched away, disappearing into the fog.