“Does it ever stop?” Lydia gasped. “No.” Sibyl looked down at her hands. “It comes and goes. Eventually it will begin to feel less unbearable. Maybe it will come over you only once a day, and then once a week. One day you’ll even think you’re free of it, but then you’ll see some…” She sighed, gesturing toward nothing in particular. “Some face that looks like hers, or you’ll smell her perfume, and then…” Sybil’s eyes shimmered slightly. “I couldn’t bear the smell of rosemary for a year after my grandmother died. One moment I’d be fine, and then…” She took a shaking breath and smiled weakly.
