Harrow shakes her head. "She rarely spoke. She was simply... a presence. Sometimes not even seen. Sounds in the distance."

She make a small noise; not quite a sigh. "I have considered seriously that I am mad of course."

"As I got older, it was less. After my first menarche," she says this as awkwardly and stiffly as if confessing to a crime, "I stopped seeing her altogether. Only the subtler signs."