“You’re wrong. I don’t remember who you are. I can’t—” I looked back out onto the water. “I can’t remember anything.” “Shall I tell you the story?” “What story?” “Ours, dear one.” I sat up straighter. “There once was a girl,” he said, his voice slick, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same: “The girl, the King, and the monster they became.”
