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Summary
There are no gentle rebirths.
Every sequence of Beatrice is an absorbing force for Ava and her worries. Time always passes differently in her presence. Slow. Relenting. Even black holes provide comfort, keeping the light safe inside. A lighthouse. Both shelter and warning. Their weight an anchor in an otherwise hostile environment.
And there is something else there—a diffracted similarity to Beatrice. A suggestion that they’re both different from everyone else. Like pieces of the same whole. Two fragments of the same rock, humming with identical resonance.
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Or: This town is full of monsters. But none like them.