A young woman on a small boat, making her way through a swamp. She pushes the boat with a pole. The pole makes little noise in the water.
And this:
The woman’s face—tired and hurt. The face is worn with suffering. It cannot keep the secret of who she is.
And this:
The glow of lamps, far off in the distance. Bits of flames flickering between thick columns of cypress.
She is escaping.
She is resolved.
He is nowhere in her vision.
He is awake and yet he isn’t. The feeling in his heart is heavy. There is a weight there, pressing, for this is where he has been carrying her. The weight is suffocating his heart.
He can hear his heart beating. It is begging to be set free.
“Edward,” a voice says. “Edward … can you hear me?”
It is not her voice. It is a man’s voice. He opens his eyes. It is Joseph’s voice.
He struggles, but Joseph holds his body down. Joseph has tricked him again. He will take her—hide her. She will no longer be his.
“Where is she?” Moody says. “You devil—tell me where she is!”
“She’s safe,” Joseph says. “All is safe, and you must rest.”
Joseph has that look of truth—an angel in the mist.
“Know this,” Joseph whispers. “She has spoken. She has saved you.”