For the first time since the story began, Lorna raised her black eyes to mine. I cannot describe the metallic nature of her gaze. My stomach seared with pain. In that moment, we bowed toward each other. I bent forward because of the sting; she bent forward to offer me a small orange painting with a smile. If people had seen us at then, they would think we were bowing goodbye. I took the painting and fled the house, as decently as I could. I vomited paella all night. And I did not hang it in the living room, but in the corridor.