67. September 19, 2202 Winchester, Massachusetts
An echo.
A voice that sounds like hers, even though it isn’t.
A promise, etched into gold and stone and her heart.
What to do with Beatrix?
Not a question.
A choice.
The unraveling ceases.
The thread goes slack.
Tugs her toward something new.
If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.