Otter Creek innocent iii

gone.
it stung, that soft, downtrodden confession. so young, so young. mine are, too. that is why i was sad. shaba. iris. wren. their faces are blurry in his mind, but he can still feel them.
but you should know that they are not really gone, cucciolotta, he leers, now, craning his neck toward her in a way that felt alien with its sincerity. you can still speak to them. would you like to learn how?