Why should I hide it?

Encased in the stinging starlight, I try to stop myself crying. I bristle as she mentions my daughter. When she returns, I tell her:

‘I would never forget her. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of her.’ I try to tell her this calmly, but her mention of my daughter in such a careless manner has me all fired up and angry again. The silver has receded to allow me to deal with my emotions. Nothing a lump of magic metal can do against sunlight. ‘I would go insane faster if I remembered what I should forget every day.’ I say.

‘Nor would silver make me forget it. I suppose you can see my memory now, can’t you?’ I ask. I’ve let my mental barriers drop. I’m hardly thinking of anything else and I see no point in hiding it from her. I’ve spent too long hiding it from myself. I let the memory play out to the end. The summer’s day, the newborn’s hunger ravaging my body, my daughter asking to play. The painful end to the afternoon. I hang my head in shame. I’m a monster, why should I pretend to be anything else?

The End

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