Epilogue
Almost six weeks since being shown the secrets within the depths of the house, I humbly accept who, and what, I am.
I refuse to alert Nathan to this fact, though.
If I have questions, I start with: Suppose your bedtime story is true ...
I only do so because I know it amuses him and use any excuse to encourage the blueness of his eyes to lighten, the laughter lines to surface, and that smug smile of his to show its face.
Besides, he knows I believe.
I used to think my life was so easily categorised into darkness and light, night and day, awake and asleep. How wrong I was.
Of course, I realise with hindsight, so many of my brightest periods came while under the cover of darkness, in the form of my dreams—just as I had plenty of my blackest periods during times I thought would
