Three little letters can’t make a bit of difference. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. Who she is I have not discovered, but she is masquerading as Melusine, and for all I know, is not even married to the man who calls himself Valade. ‘You think I am like that Valade? No, a thousand times. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger.
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