Emotion was stronger here, more pure. I barely avoided being swallowed up by my sense of failure and kicked it off and away like it was a boot, heavy with mud. There was a vague falling sensation as the feeling dropped away. Dwelling on my mistakes wouldn’t help me and I was certain that giving up would trap me here for a long time.

My first impulse was to beat at the invisible walls of my prison but my mental fists rebounded with a force that surprised me. I was furious to find out that I had effectively walled myself out of my own body. Maybe that was one of the reasons Grandmother—no Rosalia, that was her real name—had warned me against this. I had left my body vacant, defenseless, and free to be inhabited by anyone who could.

I howled to be heard but my own screams echoed back at me growing into a discordant chorus. I couldn’t tell which voice was mine any longer.

Slowly, a song rose in the darkness.

Sleep, good boy, my beautiful,
bayushki bayu,
quietly the moon is looking
into your cradle.