But History Is A Faithless Teller Whose

She Was The Breeze On A Summer's Day, The First Drops Of Rain When The Earth Was Parched, Light From The Evening Star.

It Didn't Occur To Him That She Might Have Chosen To Remain This Way. That Where He Saw Reserve And Loneliness, Cassandra Saw Self-preservation And The Knowledge That It Was Safer When One Had Less To Lose.

Darling Girl, Blinded By Foolish Thoughts Of Love. How To Tell Her That The Hearts Of Men Were Not So Easily Won. If Won, Rarely Kept.

Reluctance To Begin Is Quick To Befriend Procrastination. . . .

It Was The Sibling Thing, I Suppose. I Was Fascinated By The Intricate Tangle Of Love And Duty And Resentment That Tied Them Together. The Glances They Exchanged; The Complicated Balance Of Power Established Over Decades; The Games I Would Never Play With Rules I Would Never Fully Understand. And Perhaps That Was Key: They Were Such A Natural Group That They Made Me Feel Remarkably Singular By Comparison. To Watch Them Together Was To Know Strongly, Painfully, All That I'd Been Missing.