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I nodded again and she continued.“I know this will sound like standard Freudian psych. speech, but did you know her father?”“Yes. A headmaster of the old school. Strict, good turn of phrase, wide vocabulary, enjoyed the English language, rather stiff!”“Well observed, Caleb!” she interrupted. “That will make the rest much easier. You didn’t know her before university though, did you?”“No, we met in her final year.”“Right.”She paused and took a breath.“Well, you know her parents were both strict with her – loving, don’t get me wrong – but very strict.”She didn’t wait for a reply but pressed on.“Her mother would slap her legs hard if she was naughty, but her father was a different matter altogether. She never told you what he used to do?”“No.”“All right. I’ll tell you. First, you need to know that she idolised her father, loved him ardently, worshipped him, you get the picture?”“I remember how cut up she was when he died. Daddy’s girl?”“Exactly! Which made her father’s punishments all. Her skin was pure white. The white of snow. Of the unreal. She stood before a blackness which had not been there before, a tunnel stretching forever into the unknown. Her hair, too, was white, if darker. Blue eyes, large, but with pupils small as if unused to the light. She blinked. He blinked as well. She was about his age, or the mystical equivalent, smaller and slenderer as many girls in his class were. Her breasts were half orbs, prominent, tips black. He then noticed her lips were black, as were her finger and toe nails. Between her legs, a patch of light grey hair.She stood there silently. Blinking.His first thought, once he was capable of thought, was that she had to be cold. He was chilly, the light jacket he had worn discarded next to his pack. Her nakedness was too unreal to cause a reaction. Tom hardened, though, from her beauty alone. It was an unearthly beauty. Inhuman, yet achingly human. His throat dry, he swallowed."Who are you?"It came out nervous, terrified. The.
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