The letter sits on the table. It is your hand. You wrote it three days ago. You do not remember writing it.

"Dearest Elspeth," it begins. The ink is black. It is dry. You read it again. You read it a third time. The words are plain. They are sharp. They cut.

"I am leaving the house. I am leaving the debt. I am leaving the silence. You will wait. You will watch. You will break."

You look at your hands. They are still. They are pale. The fingernails are bitten to the quick. The skin underneath is raw. Red spots bloom like flowers in the dirt.

Elspeth is in the kitchen. She is washing a cup. The water is clear. The cup is white. She does not look up. She does not know.

"Did you eat?" she asks. Her voice is low. It is soft.

"No," you say. Your voice is thin. It is dry.

"Good," she says. She dries the cup. She puts it in the cupboard. The door closes with a click. It is a small sound. It is a loud sound.

You look at the letter again. You look at the door. You look at the wall. The wall is yellow. It is peeling. The plaster crumbles. It falls to the floor. It makes a dust.

You remember the night.

You were walking in the garden. The moon was high. It was full. It was white. It was cold. The air was sharp. It bit your face.

The woman was there. She was standing by the well. She was tall. She was thin. Her dress was grey. It was old. It was torn. Her face was smooth. It was blank. It had no eyes.

It had no mouth.

It had no nose.

It was a mask. It was a shell. It was a body without a soul.

She raised her hand. It was white. It was long. It pointed at you.

She did not speak. She did not need to speak. You heard her. She was inside your head. She was inside your chest. She was inside your throat.

She said: *Give me your voice. Give me your name. Give me your breath. I will take your pain. I will take your fear. I will take your self.*

You wanted to run. Your legs did not move. Your feet were stuck in the earth. The roots held you. The ground held you.

You wanted to scream. Your mouth was full of water. You could not breathe. You could not think.

The woman moved. She moved toward you. She was fast. She was silent.

She touched your face. Her hand was cold. It was ice. It was death.

You felt it leave.

You felt it rise.

You felt it drain.

It went up your neck. It went into her mouth. It went into her dark.

You felt light. You felt free. You felt empty.

You ran. You ran to the house. You ran to the door. You ran to the table. You picked up the pen. You wrote the letter.

You do not remember the rest.

Elspeth walks in. She holds a tray. There is bread on it. There is butter on it. There is tea on it.

"Here," she says. She puts the tray on the table. She covers the letter. She pushes it to the side.

"Elspeth," you say.

She looks at you. Her eyes are brown. They are deep. They are tired.

"Yes?"

"Did I write this?"

She looks at the letter. She looks at you. She looks at the wall.

"Yes," she says.

"What does it mean?"

"It means you are leaving," she says.

"I am not leaving."

"You are," she says. "You are already gone."

You look at your hands. You look at the nails. The red spots are there. They are spreading. They are moving. They are growing.

"I am here," you say.

"Are you?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Then why can I not hear you?"

You open your mouth. You try to speak. You push the air. You push the sound.

Nothing comes.

No sound comes.

No voice comes.

You look at Elspeth. You look into her eyes. You see the fear. You see the love. You see the hate.

She loves you. She hates you. She loves the silence. She hates the noise.

You remember the woman. You remember the cold. You remember the freedom.

You are free. You are light. You are empty.

But you are alone.

Elspeth sits down. She sits across from you. She looks at the bread. She looks at the tea.

"You are changing," she says.

"I am the same," you say.

"No," she says. "You are less."

You look at the letter. You pull it toward you. You read it again.

"I am leaving the house. I am leaving the debt. I am leaving the silence. You will wait. You will watch. You will break."

You look at Elspeth. She is waiting. She is watching. She is breaking.

She is cracking.

The plaster on the wall falls. It makes a dust. The dust is in the air. The dust is in your throat.

You try to cough.

No sound comes.

Elspeth stands up. She takes the tray. She leaves the room. The door closes.

You are alone.

You are free.

You are empty.

You look at your hands. The red spots are on your arms. They are on your neck. They are on your face.

They are spreading.

They are taking you.

You are the body. You are the shell. You are the mask.

You are the woman by the well.

You are the silence.

You are the debt.

Elspeth comes back. She is holding a knife. It is small. It is silver.

"Elspeth," you try to say.

No sound comes.

She looks at you. Her face is wet. She is crying.

"I am sorry," she says.

"Stop it," you try to say.

No sound comes.

She moves toward you. She moves slowly. She is shaking.

"Please," you try to say.

No sound comes.

She looks at the letter. She looks at you.

"You wanted to be free," she says. "You wanted to be gone. You wanted to be nothing. Now you are nothing. But you are here. And I am here. And I cannot leave you. And you cannot leave me."

She puts the knife on the table.

"We are bound," she says. "We are tied. We are one."

You look at the knife. You look at your hands.

You want to cut. You want to break. You want to end.

But you cannot. You do not have the strength. You do not have the voice. You do not have the self.

You only have the body.

You only have the pain.

Elspeth sits down. She holds your hand. Her hand is warm. It is alive.

You are cold. You are dead.

"I will keep you," she says. "I will keep you here. I will keep you silent. I will keep you mine."

You look at her. You look into her eyes.

You see the darkness.

You see the hunger.

You see the love.

It is a trap. It is a cage. It is a tomb.

You are the prisoner. You are the ghost. You are the echo.

You are the pale protocol.

The sun sets. The light fades. The room is dark.

Elspeth lights a candle. The flame is small. It is yellow. It is bright.

It illuminates your face.

It illuminates the red spots.

It illuminates the emptiness.

You are beautiful. You are terrible. You are free.

You are lost.

Elspeth puts her hand over yours. She squeezes. It is tight. It is hard.

"Stay," she says.

You stay.

You are staying.

You are always staying.

The candle burns. The wax drips. It pools on the table. It is white. It is hard.

It is a tomb.

You are in the tomb.

You are free.

You are nothing.

Elspeth closes her eyes. She is sleeping. She is dreaming.

She is dreaming of you.

She is dreaming of the silence.

She is dreaming of the debt.

You open your eyes. You look at the letter.

You pick up the pen.

You write.

You write: *I am here.*

The ink is black. It is dry.

Elspeth wakes. She looks at the letter. She reads it.

She smiles.

It is a small smile. It is a sad smile.

It is a free smile.

You are free.

You are nothing.

You are here.

The house is quiet. The wind is loud. The leaves are dry. The earth is cold.

You are the silence.

You are the debt.

You are the free.

You are the bound.

You are the pale.

You are the protocol.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

You are the middle.

You are the all.

Elspeth holds your hand.

You do not move.

You do not breathe.

You do not speak.

You are free.