You kept her close at hand always, insisting it was because you loved her, because you wanted to protect her and couldn’t stand to be without her. As someone who had been loved in this way for centuries, I also knew it was much easier to keep an eye on someone who was close at hand, to guide their mind and direct their steps. You made it into an art form, this quiet sort of violence. You were so far into our heads your gentle suggestions so often felt like our own thoughts.
