"TEN YEARS AGO, at Michaelmas, the early autumn hours were fading into dusk. The day was dying slow. I had fallen off the straight and narrow into a place of harsh rocks and broken brambles, like the story of Satan falling from heaven on Saint Michael’s Day. But I had fallen from no heaven, and those who pursued me were no angels." -- from the novel SINFUL FOLK
Chiara wanders around the castle forests by herself nowadays. Always on her papa's old horse. "It's her own way of trying to forget, Gabs," Lia told me one time as we watched her return from the ramparts, Lutterius not far behind.