Cathy Ames was dropped into the darkness and held there, writhing, gasping, searching for air and truth but there was no air and truth, not in her heart, not in her life. No matter how hard she tried, the cloaks surrounded her, shrouded her in words that to other soothed at first then terrified. Calmed at first then electrified like pins sharpened by the sun.
Cathy Ames, could she be the most malevolent mistress of them all, leaving us in tears as she leaves us all unrequited? The best of us, the worst of us, it doesn’t matter. Could literature have produced another GOLLUM, but this time it’s us begging for the ring? My precious, disappearing in the darkness and writhing, with us begging for her return. Begging, her heel marks black against our soul.