Status Updates From Spitting Gold

More intriguing than I thought it would be. It’s sticks to the views of the time which I appreciate

Charlotte’s motives re: Florence are noble, but she does enjoy being a martyr on the pyre of self-pity. She’s got no right to assume how Sylvie really feels about her husband or why she (Sylvie) severed contact, & she (Charlotte) could’ve left their crappy abusive father years ago to strike out on her own. Going on & on about how Sylvie abandoned them just makes me give her an irritated side-eye.

—“If I could help you, I would. But can no longer call upon the dead.”
—I expected pleading to follow. Offers of money, exhortations. Or perhaps resignation. Tears. What I didn’t expect was the smile that crossed her face. Not a pleasant smile; it was ghostly in itself. It made the skin on my arms prickle like anything.
—“Because you never could,” said Florence.

‘To turn back or to press on? I took a long, slow breath, filling my lungs: bags of dried lavender at the windows; beeswax on the floor; vinegar & carbolic; & the traces of latent mildew & dust. Scents of the household—distinctive & dependable. Nothing could have been further from the otherworldly. I could not let myself be frightened by the inventions of my own mind.’

‘Florence opened her mouth & out of it came a hiss, a snake sound. It was the sound of Lucifer in the Garden; the sound of evil itself. My insides formed an uneasy knot. And then the hiss rounded off & reconciled itself into syllables, & then words. No: one word, repeated over & over. “Sabine. Sabine. Sabine.”’ ….I wonder if this Florence is named after the medium in Legend of Hell House. 💀

—“Oh, come here, Gevaudan! Good boy!” Gevaudan loped over, tongue lolling in joy, & allowed himself to be scooped into Sarah’s lap. “Isn’t he looking pretty today?” asked Sarah, smoothing back his ears.
—I found Gevaudan no more remarkable than any other dog—although perhaps he was slightly smellier. But one did not say such things to a dog’s mistress. Not if one wished to remain her friend.

‘After everything I had done to reinvent myself, here was the threat of exposure if I committed even the tiniest blunder. Yet that was the thing—underneath the anxiety & irritation, there was a tremor of excitement, just as Charlotte had said. I could feel it fluttering in my midriff like a caged songbird. It had been locked away for over two years, but now it was ready to sing.’