"This is unfair. I'm dying. I don't need to be
here," she said in weak, raspy protest.
The girl looked at her counterpart with luminous, blue eyes
that almost competed with the eight in the other's head. "You are closer
to me than you've ever been," Promise said. "'The good news of
suffering is that it brings us to the end of ourselves - a purpose it has
certainly served in my life. It brings us to the place of honesty, which is the
place of desperation, which is the place of faith, which is the place of
freedom.' Tchividjian."
Pelinora narrowed her eyes. "Don't quote at me. You
don't even know what you're saying. You're a sieve that catches...oh, I don't
even know what you catch. At any rate, go away. Let me die in peace."
"You'd not let yourself do that, were I here or no. The
flutters of by-gones have gone by. I would know. I've been separated from my
beloved, too."
"Then why are you here? You've been in absentia for
years. What made you crawl out of your faded-lace grave?" Pel shuddered,
moaned softly in pain. "This is wretched."
"You are me without the fever; now, I am you with the
fever." Promise watched the Lost serenely.
"You're a doll," Pel bit
"So are you."
"Hardly. Hardly. Go away." Pel tried to stand,
fell back down. Swallowed the dust in her throat.
"You are a
doll. Only, you have a pull string and when someone tugs it, you spew
know-it-all-isms. It's all right. I wish I could do so. My strings are around
my wrists and throat and ankles. I don't spew. I jangle dance."
"This is madness." Pel closed her eyes. "And
I haven't time for madness anymore."
"You exhumed me. I was at peace," Promise noted.
"So here is my advice: promote yourself."
Pelinora shook her head weakly. "No. Never again."
"I didn't mean it that way. I meant - give yourself a
higher position. With benefits."
"How?" Pel peeked at the Toreador.
"Go and play. Show Autumn you are its avatar."
Pelinora smiled, and Promise shivered.
