Millie couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Possessed?"

"Yes. You've been possessed by a demon," the Mother Superior confirmed, "for a while now."

Possessed. It all sounded so implausible, impossible.

And yet...

Her gaze travelled to the charred remains of Matthew, then to the broken staff still stuck in her leg. She thought of how she had ripped it out of Sister Marion's hands without even trying. She had been so outside herself, as though she wasn't the one doing it at all.

In an instant, her mind flashed through all the strange things that had haunted her stay at Wickford.

Her double in the shadows at night, staring at her with eyes full of hate...

Her headaches, her constant nightmares, reliving the bombing, over and over...

And then the strange stirrings in her gut, especially when Matthew was near...

Had that...

Had all that been the doing of the thing inside her?

"How?" Millie sputtered. "When?"

"After you were struck down by a bomb during the Blitz," the Mother explained. "In your weakened state, something found you and... took hold."

Her fingers went to the long scar at the side of her face. Because of the head injury, her memories of that time were all blurred together.

"No," Millie muttered, shaking her head. There was nothing in her memory that could explain the Mother Superior's wild story. Her head was starting to ache again, and she gripped it as though she had to hold it together or it would crack open. She half-hoped it would to spare her the suffering. "That can't be true..."

"It is," the Mother said plainly.

"Then why don't I remember any of it?" Millie challenged. "I'd remember something like that. Surely someone would remember being possessed—"

Millie stopped, and glanced back at the char and ash that was left of Matthew, his words echoing through her head. This would be so much easier if you could remember!

Was this what he wanted her to remember?

That there was something evil burrowed deep inside her?

But something told her that when he'd said that, he hadn't be speaking to her...

"We couldn't let you remember," the Mother continued. "Suppressing your memory allows us to suppress it. We've created this place for you to live your life as it was, ignorant of the truth until we could figure out how to get the demon out of you. I acknowledge that it was an imperfect solution, but we have no other choice. If either you or it grows too aware, we risk it breaking free and lashing out—"

Millie froze, her whole body going cold. "What?"

"To keep the demon at bay, we've been forced to mould Wickford to fit your memories, to pretend as though nothing is wrong—"

"No, no the other thing. If it becomes too aware, you said, it... It lashes out?"

"Yes," the Mother said, her eyes narrowing.

"What does that mean?"

The Mother paused, her lips pressed into a thin line, as though it should be obvious... Or that she didn't want to say it aloud. She let out a long breath. "It kills people, Mildred."

Of course it did.

She thought of the photos she had stolen, of all the deaths that plagued Wickford, of Petra lying bloody in her arms at the bottom of the stairs...

Millie's breathing was getting ragged now.

"It... It was me?" she gasped, her fingers tearing at her chest. "It was me who killed them?"

The Mother took another deep breath like this was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. "It's not like that, Mildred. You didn't do this—the demon did."

Millie was staring down at her shaky hands. "No, it was me! I did this! I killed them all!"

"Mildred, no—"

But Millie wasn't listening. Her hands balled into fists, and she released a howling scream.

Petra exited into the hall, her torch beam lighting up the dark. She had just come from the lavatory, and she turned to go back to the dorm. The torch beam scanned across the hall and hit upon a figure. Immediately, Petra turned the torch down.

"Oops, sorry!" Petra whispered into the darkness with a giggle. "I didn't mean to blind you."

"It's okay," came a soft voice.

Petra gently angled the beam up again. "Millie?"

It was. Millie was just standing in the dark. She looked dazed, her eyes focused on something far away.

"Millie, what's the matter?" Petra asked. "Do you feel unwell?"

"Are you really my friend, Petra?"

Petra started, then forced a laugh. "That's a weird question. Of course, I'm your friend."

"She's lying to you," came a sweet-voiced whisper in Millie's ear.

"I don't believe you," Millie said to Petra.

"What?" Petra said. The torch in her hand began to shake.

"They're all lying to you," came the whisper again. "They sent this girl to get close to you, to spy on you. She's not your friend. She's been lying to you this whole time."

"You've been lying to me this whole time," Millie repeated.

"Millie, what are you talking about?" Petra said, trying to play it off with a giggle. "I'm not lying to you..."

"They sent you here, didn't they?" Millie continued, her voice flat and emotionless. "They sent you here to lie to me, to pretend to be my friend, didn't they?"

"No, no. You've got it all wrong, Millie. We're really friends. You're my best friend—"

There was a singing whistle of metal cutting through the air, and Petra dropped the torch.

It was all starting to come back to her now. Millie collapsed to the floor as the memories washed over her.

All along, it had been her that had killed Petra.

All because something had been whispering in her ear...

"Is it true?" Millie asked, her voice shaking.

"Is what true?"

"That you sent Petra in there," Millie breathed, trying to parse the memory. "You sent her in to... befriend me?"

"Oh, yes, we did," the Mother admitted. Her expression was solemn, but there was no trace of apology.

Millie winced at the thought. "Why?"

"After years of trying to break you free, we were at the end of our options. We had been trying the same things over and over again, with no result. We needed to try something new, anything we could, and I had the idea of giving you a... friend."

"A friend?" Millie scoffed. The whispering voice had been right. "What good is a fake friend?"

"She was never fake," the Mother explained. "Petra was carefully selected from our recruits because of the kind of person she was. She was kind, open, unafraid and she loved to make friends. She could make friends with everyone, anyone... Even you."

A knot tied itself in Millie's throat. It was a small comfort that Petra had really tried to be her friend because she was gone now. "And I killed her."

"It wasn't you," the Mother said again, firmer this time. "It was the demon."

"Why did I need a friend in the first place? Why did you sacrifice someone so good for something so stupid?"

"Because I was trying to reach you."

"M-Me?"

The Mother hitched up her skirts and crouched down low to the ground, getting on Millie's level as she was still crumpled on the floor.

"The demon in you is old, and powerful, and stubborn. It will not let you go no matter what we do. In all the centuries we've done this, you've been the worst case the Order of St. Bride have ever encountered."

Millie's eyes widened. "Centuries? You've been doing this for centuries?"

The Mother gave a single, slow nod. "Our order has long had a skill and a reputation for healing even the most dire of afflictions. We are descended from the pagan god Brigid, who denounced her heathen ways and became our patron saint. We still use her remnants of her old magic," her gaze flicked down to the woven circle to which Millie was pinned, "to heal afflictions of the body... and the soul."

"If you have all this power," Millie begged, "then why can't you help me?"

"We're trying to," the Mother explained, looking at Millie with pity. "But as I said, it's stubborn. No matter how hard we try, it refuses to let go of you... Or you refuse to let go of it."

Millie wanted to sob, but all that shook out of her was a rough laugh. "Why... Why would I hold on to a demon?"

"That's what we've been trying to figure out," the Mother said, her brow furrowing. "That's why I sent Petra to you. I thought that if I could reach you, reach your heart, then you might be able to finally let go of whatever holds in his grip. And you almost did, you're so close..."

Millie racked her brain for what it could be. What one thing in the whole world could convince her to stay here, alone, trapped in this hell?

"She's lying to you."

The voice came from above, a voice she would recognise anywhere. 

Millie turned and looked up.

Olivia.