The girl is soft. Moldable. Like Dennis. Not as eager as Dennis, I’m sure, but few are. She is defiant and arrogant, but that defiance can be harnessed. God, I hesitate to say it, but she brings to mind a younger version of myself. Not as determined, not as naturally gifted, but I see flickers of my past, reminders of where I started and how far I have come. Her talents are wasted and she knows it, and that resentment is my way in. I see the seeds of great things in her, but I will need to approach her carefully. A demonstration is in order, one that will prove beyond a doubt that sometimes sickness really cannot be cured.

It hardly matters that the sickness is all my doing.

I believe I am still waiting on the best candidate to propel my research forward, but this will prove an amusing distraction until that time.

—Excerpt from Warden Crawford’s journals—late April