When James disappeared down the path and Vigil was safe in her bedroom, the sun was just brushing the tops of the trees.

She heard the faint rumbling of her parents' automobile through her closed window, and she returned under her covers. She wasn't feeling herself today, and the voices seemed to have come back.

I won't stop until you give up. The voice kept chanting. Over and over. Again and again.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" Vigil whispered, squeezing her coverlet in two fists. "What did I do to you?"

She tore the blanket from her head and sat up. "You won't stop until I give up?" She said aloud, staring into the vanity mirror.

"What do you mean, 'give up'?" She suddenly screamed, hurling her pillow at the mirror.

It bounced off with no damage, and Vigil whipped the comforter over her head again, almost wishing the mirror had broken.

The door creaked open, and Margaret peeped her head in. "I heard screaming. Is everything alright?"

Vigil peeked out from under her covers. "Just another episode."

"Where were you all day, anyway?" The maid said, picking her pillow up from the floor.

She swallowed, images of the circus freaks shadowing her mind. "I don't want to talk about it."

Margaret sighed and opened her mouth, but closed it again. "You should tell me, but I won't make you," She hung up one of Vigil's dresses. "The cook made your dinner, but you never came to eat it. I can heat it back up for you."

Vigil shook her head, trying to block out images of the boy's disfigured hand. "I'm not hungry. I'm —I just want to sleep."

~~~~~

"I want you as one of my bridesmaids!" Martha cried, cupping Vigil's face in two hands. "You would look adorable in this gown."

Vigil couldn't bring herself to argue with the sickly green dress that Martha was pressing against her chest. She had been feeling incredibly weak ever since the circus incident, so she merely nodded. Turning from her brother's fiance, she walked down the church aisle they were rehearsing the wedding in, and pushed open the heavy double doors.

The sun was a welcome change to the dark, dusty cathedral. Women were huddled around a table, creating an arrangement of roses for the bride. Such things would have made her happy, but Vigil felt almost dead this morning.

She suddenly tripped over a crate next to the door, and it tipped over. Dozens of marigolds tumbled out onto the cobblestones, and Vigil huffed in frustration.

James suddenly appeared, carrying another crate. He stared at the flowers on the ground, and carefully set them back in place.

"What are you doing here?" Vigil questioned.

He cleared his throat and picked the crate back up. "I— I'm just delivering flowers."

She nodded, remembering the circus. She turned around to walk back inside, when he caught her hand.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concern flooding his face. "You seem a bit... I don't know."

Vigil shrugged a little. "It was just a shock, I suppose."

James pursed his lips, then took a single marigold out of the crate and held it out. "I think I know something that could cheer you up."