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( december 17th )
On the dining table, a single candelabra has been left alight, five small flames the only guard against the shadows filling the room. Midnight has come and gone. The paper in front of Caroline is blank, until she puts her pen to it and writes the first sentence.
Who are you?
The chalkboards are bound together with string, front to front, a hard parcel left off to the side, out of reach. When she leans over for them and loosens the knot, revealing the insides, words have appeared in an elegant handwriting.
We are the same.
She asks again, who are you? Thrice. Different answers each time, same swirling letters: we are searching, we cannot find, we long to rest in - Finally, Caroline Becker who does not awaken the dead grabs the chalkboards and hurls them at the floor, screaming.
No!