The hour is late and if someone were to catch the flickering of a light beneath my door I would most surely receive a scolding. But I have to write this down and I have only just said goodnight to Hanny. Today was remarkable. The oddest thing has occurred. But I suppose I should begin where I left off as not to convolute this. I shall try to describe this as well as I can. I have been told I am good with details, we shall see.

Let me first explain that Dr. Lucius Edward Abaddon is American—southern, I believe—with an odd way of speaking that is both slow and soothing. I should also note that I do, in many ways, find Dr. Abaddon striking. He appeared stylishly dressed, well groomed and altogether not what I had imagined him to be. It wasn't that I had much of an idea what he might look like, I had overheard people talking about him, mostly the nurses since the nuns are far to elevated in their mindsets to stoop to such regular female activities. I had heard that he was supposedly handsome, I even knew that he was young—but he is more. This man is no more than five years my senior. If I did not know better, I would even wager him younger then that. But for him to have achieved the success and repute that he has in such a short time would be nearly impossible. That is the first thing that is off about him.

The third is his features. He is perfectly symmetrical, perfectly lovely—almost to the point of distrust. He is tall, easily towering over all the females present at this meeting, and well postured. His skin is lightly tanned, but not more than would befit any gentleman, and his hair, which falls just below is earlobes, is honey colored and nicely styled. He has a beard, which he keeps tightly trimmed. Everything about him, from the shape of his facial hair, to the freckles on his nose, to the length of his eyelashes, is perfectly equal. Everything is evenly space and beautifully symmetrical.

I haven't even spoken on his eyes. Oh, they are physically breathtaking. I have never seen anyone with eyes quite like his. They are green, but not dark or muddied with brown or gold, instead, they are pale, crystalline, with a greyish tinge that is almost metallic. And he knows how to use them. He is all eye contact and appeasing smiles. It was not that he said or did anything to make me uncomfortable; it was only that he was too much, too much of everything.

Too pretty.

Too serious.

Too honest.

Far too interested in me.

He walked into the parlor and introduced himself as Dr. Abaddon to nurse Franklin, Sisters Alberta and Florence. Then, without so much as missing a beat, he turned and introduced himself as Lucius to me. If I could accurately describe the look on Sister Florence's face I most certainly would, but I believe such an art would take someone much more skilled. She was appalled, as was I. Our people have quickly adapted to new inventions and technologies over the past few years, but our social structure and the nuances therein, have not and likely will not change. For this man, a complete stranger, to offer me his first name upon meeting is both entirely inappropriate and entirely unexpected.

He had been holding my hand in his, waiting to see what my response would be to his disconcerting request. This was altogether inappropriate. I had neither offered my hand nor requested he take it. Instead, he had reached forward and scooped my fingers from my lap.

I looked up at him, finding that he was still waiting, and tried to think of something to say. What should a lady say when a man puts her in such a situation as this? What am I to do when he has taken my hand and is insisting upon my calling him by a name that is not meant for me, a perfect stranger, to speak?

He must have realized that I was not going to say anything because he dropped my hand and strode over to the remaining armchair. He then hauled it across the floor so that it was positioned directly in front of the couch on which I sat.

When he was satisfied with his proximity to me, he settled onto the lumpy thing and folded his fingers across his crossed knees. After offering me an amused smile he turned to look quickly around the room taking it all in. Nurse Franklin was sitting in the other armchair and, for lack of chairs, both nuns were standing by the door—none of the ladies present were amused, myself included.

It isn't until this moment, as I recount this, that I realize that he never offered to stand himself. There hadn't even been any of the usual fuss over him wanting to give the only remaining chair to a lady. I wonder if he believed etiquette unimportant since they are nuns... In hindsight, I find this all quite strange. Men are not supposed to sit while a lady stands—nuns or otherwise.

"Is it possible," he asked without taking his gaze off me, "for us to have a moment alone?"

Alberta was my savior. "That would be inappropri—"

She was stopped mid-thought by Florence. The younger woman reached out and placed a hand on Alberta's arm, it was not done in anger only as a calming touch. They did not know this man, no need to presume the worst in him.

"We don't mean to hinder your methods, Dr. Abaddon," said nurse Franklin, "but we usually avoid leaving our patients alone with visitors."

I tensed at the word patient.

After three years of living in this old house with the same people, I was rarely treated like I was patient. I was allowed to wander the house unsupervised, I helped prepare meals, I cleaned rooms, and helped tutor the smaller, calmer, children. I was only a patient when monthly examinations occurred. I am not mad. I do not throw things or scream or see things that are of my own imagining. But as soon as a doctor enters these halls I become just like everyone else. I become just another of their patients, another mad girl who needs treatment.

Dr. Abaddon glanced my way, his gaze taking in my stiff posture. "Well," he said quietly, "I mean no disrespect. I wouldn't want to disrupt asylum standards. I most definitely don't want to cause Miss Holbrook any discomfort. I just want to speak confidentially about her treatment options. It would be rude of me to assume that she, a lady, would be comfortable with having her medical information put on display."

There was silence.

"I am after all," he said simply, "her doctor. We'll be alone together for her monthly examinations and other medical practices, I would treat this meeting as if it were no different than any of those."

This argument was, without doubt, a solid one. He was only my physician and they had never argued over whether decrepit old Dr. O'Donnell would be allowed to meet with me privately. Then again, Dr. O'Donnell had never looked nearly as fetching as this young man did. He'd also never asked me to call him by his first name.

I was flustered, still am. He was right and I understood that he was, and perhaps he was just unused to the way we do things here. I knew very little of the United States and even less of the south, but what I did know made me feel as if they were less civilized—It's late and I struggle to find the right words to convey what I'm feeling on this matter. I'm sure I come off sounding rude, which is never my intention.

Regardless, the nuns and nurse Franklin seemed to believe that he was somehow out of line. With him looking at me, as if I held all the say and not the other three women present, I wondered if perhaps they were right in that assumption. Maybe he had crossed a line, or perhaps he was just dancing along the edges of it—I have yet to decide.

Florence, the senior and certainly the most respected of the nuns, broke the silence that had ensued. "What if, perhaps, we were to leave Miss Holbrook with Dr. Abaddon until tea is ready?"

The three women exchanged knowing glances, it was apparent that they were still utterly unconvinced, but were perhaps willing to take a step away. I felt like a scolded child, as if I had been caught in the act of brazen flirting when I most certainly had not. It was also an odd matter of trust. I didn't necessarily want to be left alone with this man, but it bothered me that they felt I wasn't to be trusted. We weren't flirting. In fact, I'd barely spoken a word since he'd entered the room. I kept my eyes down, away from the oppressive weigh of Dr. Abaddon's gaze and the disapproving looks of my nuns and nurse.

Now should have been the moment when someone asked me what I wanted. I should have a choice, or at least the illusion of one. I still stood by what I'd told Hanny. I did not know him and he had given me no reason to doubt his good intentions—and yet I felt deeply uneasy. But, the fact remains, no one asked me and before I could muster the courage or decide what I wanted he was speaking.

"That would be just magnificent, ma'am."

"I suppose it's settled then." Nurse Franklin said.

Alberta nodded and narrowed her eyes at me. "Miss Holbrook, when tea is ready I'll send someone in with it. Until then, do behave."

They filed out of the room, one by one until only Florence was left. She paused briefly in the doorway, her gnarled fingers gripping the doorframe. Her eyes were narrowed but not in the accusing way of the other nun, instead she seemed to be examining Dr. Abaddon. She pursed her chapped lips together and glanced over at me, her gaze softening as she took me in. "I trust you will remain a gentleman." It was not a question.

I saw him smile out of the corner of my eye, his expression bemused. "Of course, Sister."

"I will be just down the hall." Sister Florence met my eyes once more before she left the room. Leaving me alone with Dr. Abaddon.

I did not move or look at him and he did not speak. I felt him shift in his chair across from mine. For a moment I wondered if he might lean close and take my hand. As I reflect on these occurrences I am led to wonder what I might have done if he had reached for my hand. I'd like to think I might have pulled away, that I would have exclaimed and called attention to it. Then Sister Florence would have come back and interceded for me. All would have been right. But he did not reach for me and I did not scream.

Instead he clasped his hands together, quite loudly. The sound made me jump, the reaction I believe he wanted since he smiled and settled deeper into his chair. There was blessed silence for a few moments, filled only by the distant sounds of a tantrum and the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Finally, he spoke, "How are you, Miss Holbrook?"

I bit my lip then stopped, remembering that I shouldn't. I could easily split my own lip if I wasn't careful. "Dr. Abaddon—"

"I would like it if you might call me Lucius."

I swallowed, nodded, forced my eyes up to meet his. "Of course... Lucius. I understand you came all this way, I'd appreciate it if you might skip formalities and jump right to what you plan to do."

His smile was feline. "If you'd prefer that. So, tell me then, how did you walk through a fire without getting burnt?"

"I was burnt." It was an automatic answer, the thing I always clarified whenever anyone brought up the house fire. I had been burnt, a fact, which was either forgotten or overly stated in the newspapers that covered my story. To the press, I either emerged from the flames unharmed, or I stumbled from the ashes soaked in the blood of my dead family. There never seemed to be an in-between. The newspaper folded in the front of this journal was the only one I chose to keep and even they fictionalized some of the occurrences.

Lucius nodded and leaned forward in his chair. "Yes, I know. I've read your file, as well as many of the reports that followed the incident. I meant the pain. How did you walk through a fire and not feel burnt?"

"I was under the impression that you were the doctor."

He smiled at my impudence and shook his head. "I wager I deserved that."

"I don't mean to be rude."

"You aren't. I guess I asked a silly question. I only wanted to know what your thoughts on the condition were. I have read interviews and paperwork from nearly two-dozen others, but I have yet to see anything that is in your own words. Your genuine opinion of what is wrong with you."

Wrong with you. I'd heard those words a million times and yet coming from someone as handsome as he was, someone who was not much older than I was, made them seem even more pernicious. I picked at one of the embroider roses on the cuff of my sleeve, wanting nothing more than to unravel the beautiful thing. Sometimes I believe I am meant to ruin things.

"I, in no way, wish to upset you. I just want your opinion."

And I wanted to give it. I had no idea what I might say, since no one had ever bothered to ask me what I thought before, but I wanted to have the chance to speak. I wanted words to appear on my tongue the way raindrops appear on the sidewalk, slowly and surely. But I had nothing to say; no words that would save me from the hell that had somehow become my life. And so I asked the one question I'd never asked anyone.

"What might have happened to me if I'd felt the pain of that fire?"

"What?" It wasn't the answer he'd expected and my sudden question unsettled him a little. Lucius straightened in his chair and steepled his fingers, his green eyes finding mine as he said, "You might have succumbed to injury, collapsed, lost consciousness, been burnt alive yourself. I suppose we won't ever know."

For a moment, I didn't speak and neither did he.

"I have always wondered if my inability to feel pain was what saved me. Everyone else died."

"I think, in that moment, it was a blessing."

I nodded and abandoned the stray thread on my sleeve. "You asked me what I thought about my condition. I wish I had something to tell you. I have been analyzed and spoken of so many times that I don't really remember what I believe and what is the belief of others."

He ran a hand through his hair, combing the honey colored strands back from his face. "Of your choices, what do you believe to be most reasonably the answer?"

I considered that. In the past I might have said that I was mentally ill or that I was somewhat sick, but I since ruled that out. I am not mad or sick in any way. Instead I have begun to believe that my condition is deeper, perhaps to a soul level. I would not go as far as to say I am demon possessed. As I have mentioned previously, I have a relationship with Christ. It is rocky and often silent, but there nonetheless. I had counted myself closer to Him before the incident. It is not that I doubt His presence, but that I doubt I am worthy of being in it. And so I know quite certainly that I am not filled with Satan. I doubt the nuns, for all their talk of judgment and Hell, would truly condemn me to that fate either. They believe me to be a wicked girl, but not a hellish one.

Which is beside the point. I may not be certain of what I am, but I am certain of what I am not. I know I am not ill or mad because there is far more to me than I have even let on. I have a secret—a terrible secret, one I was told to keep silent about. I have always been a good secret keeper and I shall continue to remain so. In that effort, I shall refrain from writing my own private horrors down just yet. Thus far the nuns have kept their promise and have not peeked into this journal, but if they did and saw what I hide, they would certainly take action against me. I will wait. See if this journal is truly to be my safe place.

When I did not respond right away, Lucius began speaking again. "I suppose this is a topic we might return to at a later date. For now, I will use out privacy wisely. You see, Miss Holbrook, I have come here with the intention to remove you from St. Agatha's House. I understand you have been in this private institution since 1879, a full three years as of this past February—am I correct?"

I was stunned but managed a nod.

He continued briskly, "If you are agreeable, I propose you move from St. Agatha's to the London where I can monitor your condition on a day by day basis." He was smiling when he finished, as if he'd just handed me the best surprise. As if this news was a gift, one for which an equally enthusiastic response was warranted, but I was incapable of that reaction. Instead, I stood up. He followed suit but I shook my head and he eased back into her chair.

With his gaze on me, I paced. My palms were slick with sweat and the small hairs on my arms seemed to standup with gooseflesh. There was an uncomfortable rumble in my chest and a fluttering in my lungs, as if my corset was strung too tightly after all. I paused in front of the window, looking out at the rainy day people strolling on the pavers beyond. They were separated from me by thin glass and an entire world's worth of circumstance. I did not know this man, but I his words had sparked in me a rare moment of intuition. I could not express what my body seemed to know, only act on it, and yet I did not know how to act. I was caught between wanting to interpret my body's reaction as excitement and wanting to balk.

Regardless, I wanted to be on the other side of that glass. I wanted to stroll on the arm of a young man who might look at me as adoringly, the way those gentlemen looked at their ladies. That idea was enough to spur me into action. I turned back to Lucius to find him turned in his chair, watching me. I tried to speak but failed, my words catching in my throat. He opened his mouth and I held up a hand to stop him.

With a firm swallow I dislodged my own fear and spoke. "You want to hospitalize me?"

Lucius stood and walked towards me, stopping so that we both stood looking out onto the street. "Miss Holbrook, I do not want to frighten you or pressure you into doing anything you do not feel comfortable with, but I will tell you that this place is not where you want to be."

He had not answered my question. "But a hospital is better?"

"St. Agatha's is a holding cell, a place where you can be cared for, not treated, not made better, not fixed. If you ever wish to leave, to be deemed normal again, you have to seek treatment. I am willing, excited, to work on your case. But I cannot be expected to do so here."

"But what would my life be like at the London?"

"What is you life like here?"

"I have freedom. Respect—"

"And you have those things here?"

"Yes. I can use the library whenever I want. I can teach the younger children to read. I can..." I trailed off.

"Do you have a curfew?"

"Of course. We all do, but I—"

"Which side of the door knob has the lock?"

"That's not important."

"Which side, Miss Holbrook?"

I swallowed. "The outside."

"And what about your mail? Do you get it directly?"

"Well—"

"Let me guess, you have a special friend who gives you your mail secretly? You probably believe that no one else has seen it. That this friend is helping you."

"They're sealed. They haven't been opened."

He tsked. "Oh, no. You disappoint me. I thought for sure you were brighter than that."

"I don't—"

"What kind of seal was on this letter when you received it, wax or wafer?"

"Wax."

He smiled, as if he was a spider and I'd stumbled into his web. "Wafer."

"Pardon?"

"I used a wafer. I thought the letter might be tampered with, so I used a wafer. It's easier to tell with a wafer."

"Hanny wouldn't have done that."

"Don't take my word for it. If you look at the inside flap of the envelope, you may see residue from the wafer. Of course, they may have just switched the envelope altogether. It's sweet that they would go through all that trouble just so that you might feel...in control."

I crossed the room and picked up this journal from where I'd left it on the sofa. My fingers trembled as I opened it and riffled through the documents folded inside. I found the first letter from Lucius, the one that Hanny had given me on my birthday. It was sealed with faded red wax and lacked any embellishments. The handwriting on the address was feminine, something I hadn't noticed initially, but now felt foolish for having never noticed.

I'd always been so interested in what was inside the letter; I'd never paid much attention. I thought back to my letters from Gabe, the letter from our family friend, Mrs. Waters. They'd been slipped to me in 'secret' as well. I'd never kept any of them, never had a place to put them until I got the journal. I was left wondering if those letters had been resealed as well, placed in crisp envelopes, given fresh addresses and stamps and given to me under a false understanding.

"I'm sure it was all for my protection. To keep me from having to read the death threats and the..." I trailed off.

"Or maybe it was to give you the illusion that you have freedom, that you have a friend here. Think about it, Miss Holbrook. Why would your friend, who I would guess is a nurse or a nun, go against her superiors and give you letters that had not been evaluated?"

"Hanny wouldn't—"

"But she did, didn't she? I can't tell from here, but judging from your response I'm sure you know that the envelope was either tampered with or forged."

I tossed the journal onto the sofa and walked back to where he stood by the window, letter in hand. "The script doesn't match your handwriting within. Unless you have a secretary..." I did not look at him when I spoke. His gaze was disconcerting, borderline inappropriate. As if his green eyes were pulling me apart, examining me for weaknesses, insecurities. And yet I had no reason to really feel that way, it was all gut. All pit of my stomach anxiety that I wished to quell. I needed to stop, to calm myself down so that I could analyze this situation without emotion.

He leaned forward slightly and took a long look at the letter gripped in my trembling fingers. He nodded. "It's forged. Faked so you'd think you were it's first recipient."

I swallowed and walked back to the couch, stuffing the letter back in its place. I had to take a few deep breaths, try to keep myself from crying, as I said. "None of this matters. I am well taken care of here."

"And you would be at the hospital as well."

I turned back to face him, propriety slipping away as I spat, "I am not ill. I do not need a doctor. I do not need a hospital."

"Then what are you? What are you if you aren't ill?"

"I—" The words I'd been planning to say, whatever they might have been, fled from my mind, leaving me altogether speechless and undefended. I fought for some defense, something to say or do. I folded my hands in front of me and took a steadying breath.

What was I?

I wanted to know. I felt I was human. I am not so outlandish to believe myself to be anything aside from that. I was not monster or gothic creature. I was just a girl. And he was just a boy, and infuriating, self-important boy. Granted, he was beautiful and honest, but he was still exasperating. I decided then that I disliked him.

He quirked an eyebrow at me and shot me a smile that was almost teasing. "Well? What are you?" He said it like he believed I might admit something, a secret--like he thought I was something else, something otherworldly. His eyes were hard, pressing against me.

"Peculiar." I said quickly. It was the word my mother had always used to describe me. "I'm not crazy. I'm just a bit peculiar."

He snorted and said, softly and almost gently, "What you are is unnatural, using the word 'peculiar' does not change things. It would be best if you did not indulge yourself in flattering linguistics." 

I swallowed and turned from him.

There was a pause and then he asked, "What would you want at the hospital?"

I bit my lip and shook my head. "I don't understand."

"A list of demands. What would you want? If you were to return to London with me and reside at the hospital, what would you like? Any conditions?"

"I don't want to live at a hospital." I whispered. "Hospitals are full of sick and dying people. I don't want to be surrounded by that."

I can't be surrounded by that.

Lucius nodded. "You wouldn't be near any of that. The hospital is large, I'd set you up in a room on your own, you would have nothing to worry about."

"But—"

He opened his mouth but froze when the tea light above the parlor entrance flashed. "What in blazes is that?" I winced and he smirked, not even bothering to apologize for his slip of tongue. Instead he just gestured to the light that was still flickering above the door. "Well?"

"It's a tea light. There's a wire that connects it from this room to the kitchen down the hall, when tea is ready the steam from the kettle makes the light flash."

"Where did you get something like that?"

"I suppose the landlord did it." I gestured to the bare bulb embedded in the wall. "He got the light bulbs from a man named Edison. He's American, I believe."

"Yes, I know who Edison is." Lucius said quickly. "Does the place have electric lighting too or just that little contraption?"

"The bedrooms and the kitchen. The parlor doesn't aside form the tea light and it's powered by the kettle, the rest is gas."

He adjusted his collar and gazed at the flashing bulb. "Levi would love this."

"Levi?"

"He's just a friend."

I sighed, annoyed at this diversion, and returned back to the conversation at hand. "Where do you live?"

"London, a block or so from the hospital. It's within walking distance, makes for a nice stroll. You see, I wouldn't ever be far—"

"Find me somewhere else to live."

He shook his head at me. "I'm sorry, what?"

"That's what I want. You asked if there was anything. If you want me to go to London, find me a boarding house or a friend I can stay with. Not the hospital."

"That isn't possible—"

"It's a compromise." I said quickly, "You want me closer to where you live and work and I don't want to be hospitalized. I'm trying to come up with an arrangement that suits us both equally."

He ran a hand through his hair again, this time his hand shook a little with agitation. "You're in an asylum, how can being hospitalized be any worse?"

"This isn't an asylum." I argued, "It's a home. I'm in a private home."

"You're in a private asylum." He corrected. "You're in a privately operated insane asylum, Miss Holbrook. To imagine it as anything else is a lie." He reached out and grabbed my hands, separating them. The action wasn't flirtatious, only efficient. "You'll hurt yourself if you keep doing that." He said. I looked down and saw that I'd been digging my fingernails into my palms, there were half moon intents in my flesh, not keep enough to draw blood, but close. I smoothed the skirt of my dress and took a step back from him. I needed a clear head, distance.

"I—I have a family friend, Gabe Farley, he lives in London along with his wife. Let me speak with him. I know he'd let me stay with them."

He shook his head. "It's out of the question. You'll be at the London."

"So it isn't my choice then after all. Was this all your version of the envelope switch? You only intend to give me the illusion of control."

The door opened before he could respond and in walked Hanny balancing a wooden tray laden with our best, and only, china tea set. It was cream with a blue and pink etched floral design. She walked to a small table in the corner of the room and set the tray down. I could tell by her posture that she was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She knew that she'd interrupted something. I wanted to tell her not to bother, that I'd been made well aware of what she'd been doing to me over the past few months.

As if sensing my thoughts she looked up at me. "Would you like me to fix yours?" What she meant was: Would you like me to test yours to make sure it isn't too hot. I shook my head. Hanny pursed her lips and placed the cup she'd been holding back onto the tray. She turned and walked to the empty sofa. "I was asked to remain in the room." She lowered herself onto the cushions and fluffed her simple black dress. I swallowed and turned back to Lucius. He walked over to the tea and made himself a cup.

His tone was light as he said, "We drink it cold back home."

Neither of us responded and the only noise in the room was the soft chime of china and silver. I didn't move from my spot near the window, but I did watch Hanny. Her expression was concentrated, focused entirely on Lucius as if seeing him for the first time. I remembered her words from earlier; her teasing tone as she admonished me and reminded me that she was a nun and shouldn't comment on a man's looks. And yet she seemed quite taken with him now.

Her chocolate eyes were warm and probing, as if she was looking for something, trying to decide if she knew him. I could see her processing it, the slight recognition crossing her face before it faded and was replaced with overall bewilderment. Even now, as I reflect on the occurrence, I am uncertain what her thoughts on him are. She was never overly friendly to him, always reserved and quiet, but there seemed to be something she wanted to say. He didn't notice, too caught up in our discussion to even spare her a look.

Lucius walked back to the window where I stopped next to me, "I don't mean to upset you, Miss Holbrook. I only want what is best for you and what is best for achieving a cure."

"Is there one?"

He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip of tea. "I believe so, yes."

"How?"

"Come to London and we will discuss it."

I wrapped my arms around myself and turned to look at him. "That sounds like an empty promise."

"I can assure you, it isn't. I would not take you to the London under false pretense. I am, at my core, a gentleman."

That remains to be seen. "I never meant to insinuate you weren't."

"No, of course."

"If I write to Gabe and he agrees, will you let me stay with him?"

"I take it you will be difficult if I refuse."

I shrugged and adopted his tone from seconds earlier. "I am, at my core, a lady."

He sighed and forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "If your Mr....?"

"Farley."

"If your Mr. Farley agrees to let you stay at his home, and it proves to be a comfortable distance from the hospital, then I will consent to allowing you to stay there—temporarily. You will eventually need to be under observation, either at the hospital or my own person lab."

"Under observation?"

"That is a conversation for a later date."

"Along with my treatment?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up, "You're learning." He set his cup and saucer on the mantle and adjusted his jacket, "You'll give your nuns my regards."

"You aren't staying to speak with them?"

"I spoke to you, that was my ultimate goal." He looked back at me; his gaze drifting to Hanny for a moment. Her hands were in her lap, eyes downcast as if she were in prayer. I waited to see what his response to her might be; he just nodded as if he'd expected to see her like that. "I will be in touch. Expect to leave within the next week."

*****

Hey fellow Victorians,
Thank you for reading up until this point! Don't forget to comment and like if you're enjoying what you're reading. Dr. Abaddon seems to know quite a bit about our Miss Merritt Holbrook. Do you think his intentions are good even if his reputation is, well, less than admirable? Let me know your thoughts. ❤️ Thanks.