Only night sighs remained—the cyclical surrender to sleep. Then the start of dreams, when the shape of all things changed.
Kathryn was running, chased. And she would call out, softly at first, ”No… don’t take him. Just... please! God, let him stay with me. I promise… I promise.”
Then the whispering, the frantic negotiation with her captors, her private villains. And she would play all parts—the merciful and pitiless—every role in her concentric monologue.
