Fingersmith

by Sarah Waters

I knew that I couldn’t lie beside her, without wanting to touch her. I couldn’t have felt her breath come upon my mouth, without wanting to kiss her. And I couldn’t have kissed her, without wanting to save her.

Perhaps children are like horses after all, and may be broken.

But I could not want a lover, more than I want freedom.

And so you see it is love—not scorn, not malice; only love—that makes me harm her, in the end.

I give myself up to darkness; and wish I may never again be required to lift my head to the light.