[/html]It was with some apprehension that Cassandra listened to her sister's girlish stammering and silly gushing. The swell in her chest, with its terrible mix of conflicting feelings, rose again and bubbled at the base of her neck, sending lumps into her throat. She found herself somewhat bewildered at Myrika's earnestness; it accentuated again the divide between them, the invisible wall she would not tear down. There was, apparently, plenty of innocence left in her tawny littermate to destroy. Cassandra could try to hope, but she did not truly believe that it could be preserved forever. All the same, she did not want to be the one to let the darkness of the world taint what had been kept safe thus far.
The weight in her heart sank into the pit of her stomach at Myrika's question. Not for the first time, her immediate impulse was to laugh, shrilly and harshly, to push away, to sneer. Cassandra bit her tongue instead, tensing, though she tried not to. She should have anticipated the question; it was natural the topic should pass back to her. She should have already prepared something to say, some simple tale with at least a neutral sort of ending so as to not spoil the guiltless joy of her sister's romance.
It had taken a long time for the pallid woman to move on from spending all her waking moments thinking of Jerome and of their last days together. It had taken longer still, for her to segregate her other memories of Matagami from the things that had transpired, to hold on to her French, her knowledge, her various skills, without thinking of those who'd taught her. She let a silence grow between them for longer than she should have, pale red eyes staring forward without seeing anything in particular.
"No," Cassandra said finally, shifting her gaze. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. "Maybe when I meet her, I'll know what you mean." She had not loved Jerome, it was easiest to tell herself. She had still been a child then, stupid and foolish; it had not been love.
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