For two nights in a row, Jamie had watched over Billy while he slept. On both nights, he suffered a different state of mind, but both states of mind were inexplicably attracted to the child in his rival's home.
On the first night, the boy's age begged an important question. Were they related? Jamie saw no resemblance, but he considered the possibility of his model sister producing such a beautiful face. When the mysterious urge to paint the child's lips materialised in a scarlet matte lipstick, he muttered the witch's name and wondered if they had made a child. Stroking the boy's hair, he recited Through The Looking Glass to him in his sleep and protected him from the terrors that could haunt a child's dreams.
The second night came, and Jamie felt less than alive. As invisible to the world as his strings, he lay in a hammock of red thread above the teenager's still body. If his fate was tied to him, he wanted to know who he was, so, for the first time, Jamie read about their meeting and remembered. Unnerved by his loss of memory, he touched Billy's face and sprinkled his cheeks with tears. By morning, his mind fractured, and he was gone.
