Diavola

by Jennifer Marie Thorne

I’m not a believer or a disbeliever. It would be laughably arrogant to say that anything is impossible, that any human can know the secrets of the universe. Even one secret of the universe, even that the universe as we think we know it exists. We’ll never understand enough to be able to say anything so absolute as ‘I don’t believe—’” “I don’t believe in ghosts,” Christopher declared.

La dama bianca. Ricca, potente. Vinaio. Infedele. Ossessiva. Colture avvelenate. Il figlio. Veleno, tutti avvelenati. Attacchi ai vivi. Allucinazione. Esorcismo. La chiave. La chiave del male. La chiave del torre. Mi dispiace. Perdonami, perdonami, perdonami

Control was antithetical to life. To be alive is to be battered about. To endure and adapt and keep stumbling onward despite it all.

“This is what most people spend their lives trying not to face. The pointlessness of it all. Things fall apart, the center cannot hold because there was never any center in the first place.”

I’m not a lost lamb. I’m a black sheep. These are two very different things.”