[ By rights, it should be a weakness, being unable to say no to another human being. It should be the making of a downfall but Valentine and Philomela's are too tightly bound; an invisible cord — as strong as iron, as red as blood — ties one to the other in inextricable ways. (Codependent's inaccurate, symbiotic may be closer, but whatever it is, it makes them both stronger, more vicious, more willing to do what's needed to be done. It gives them something to fight for, to strive towards and protect; it gives them purpose beyond simply guts and gore; and that makes them mighty compared to the rest of their kith and kin.)

The garden is sunny in an early evening way, the summer sun bright golden and fat and ripe in the boughs of the trees casting long, dappled beams across the grass and the flowers that sway in the breeze. Philomela tugs Valentine along, onto the rise of a small hill that falls away to rows of sunflowers (planted there on a whim by Philomela herself and which, hardy as they are, grow without tending; grow wild and reedy, much like her). Once there, she gives him a little twirl and then smiles up at him in a knowing way and asks: ] When will we get Bassianus to play? He thinks he's smarter than us and he isn't and I want him to know that he's not.