“I wonder what will become of her!”

 

Unlike the bewildering curiosity and admiration which sparked such conjecture from our nineteenth century “her”, wondering is the only thing we can do for the “her” of today. Seven, eight, nine (who really knows at this point?) months in and she is not yet recovered. She does not think she will ever recover, which may very well be part of the problem.

 

It is not that she does not wish to recover— she does— but her heart is heavy with remorse and guilt and sorrow and despair that she could ever cause harm unto somebody she cares so much for. She does not think it right to recover when there is a wrongdoing so immense from her own hand lingering in the world around us.

 

It is not simply a matter of dissipating this apparent guilt, but she has altered herself in the eyes and minds of the only ones she has ever loved and truly cared for. She has become a witch. She has chipped and contaminated her exterior. She will never be allowed to float again. She cannot re-join the path of future memories.

 

Hence, to our earlier thought:

“So do I… very much”