“What is it?” Breathless. Scarlet-cheeked. Rising to the balls of her feet. Never more lovely than in that moment. She knew, like me—and like you—the terrible longing, the hopeless revulsion, the pull of the faceless, nameless thing, the thing I call das Ungeheuer. The thing we desire and deny. The thing that is you and not-you. The thing that was before you were and will be long after you are gone. I held out my hand. “Come and see.”
