“That you may hate the sunshine and love the storm as I do—that whiteness may make you shudder—and nothing but black midnight seem beautiful. Come with me!”
“Are you possessed? Would you possess me with some evil thing?” I said, terribly excited. “Would you fill my veins with gall, my soul with hate?”
“Yes,” he answered, through his shut teeth, leading me along the marble floor.
I shuddered, remembering what I had been only that morning, and the fearful sensations that possessed me then. Was it a fiend that I was following?
“Oh, I feel the bitterness, the soul-blight even now. Unclasp my hand,” I shrieked.
“Are you afraid?” he retorted, with a sneer.
“Yes, I am afraid.”
He dropped my hand.
“Go, you are not worthy to learn anything of your mother—go, such knowledge is not for cowards.”
“My mother,” I cried, “oh, I had forgotten. Yes, tell me of her—I will follow anywhere, only tell me.”