“Troubled souls find dehr way into my eye.”
“Troubled? My daddy is in there, isn’t he?… My father was a happy man. He was in love with my mother. And she was so in love with him. You stole him!”
“It don’ matter no more, it’s time. ’Twas for me! My passage into the spirit world…”
Sarah grabbed the eye from Madame Papillon and held it in her silky hand. It was cool against her skin.
“Ya don’ understand, child. Because of all I have done, da spirits are angry with me. They don’ wan’ me and I don’ know where I’d go. This was da only way.”
“George is here, isn’t he?” Sarah asked, one eye closed, peering into the swirling ball.
Serafine stood, shaking like her bones weren’t all connected and reached for the eye.
“Not anymore,” said Sarah as she raised her hand above her head, holding the glass eye tight.
“No, don’t!” Sarah threw the glass ball onto the rickety wooden floor.
It bursted into a thousand different butterflies filling the small house. They escaped through windows and cracks and keyholes.