She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. They were in different key, they had a different timbre. She wormed her way past Sebastian, glanced at her mother’s blackened face, her obscenely naked body bulging with yellow and black buboes under the arms and in the groin that oozed stinking fluid. But there was nothing in her bearing that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed her. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. She attacked his hair resolutely. Melusine soon found herself seated at a table, with a dirty piece of paper in front of her, and a badly mended pen between her fingers.
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