"I have never been able to be certain," she says. "It is always wet. Something dark, yet not, I think black."

It feels so strange to talk about it--her--like an ordinary phenomenon. Unearthly, perhaps, but catalogable. Solid. "She is taller than me, but that is.... easily achieved."

"She speaks to me in the voices of the dead, when she speaks. Sometimes like my mother, or members of our parish. But that is rarely." She takes a breath, and then says: "She spoke to me here, once. When I touched your True Source, for just a moment."

She feels cold; like she has betrayed. But it is simple fact.