In her four and a
half years at college, Kitty hadn't seen one sign of anyone
from the Interior. If she didn't still have
the bracelet, she might have convinced herself that she’d dreamt the whole
thing up. Lately Kitty had even started to wonder
if the bracelet came from some rummage sale she’d been to with her mother, and
that in her need to feel special, she spun a fantastic story around. The more time that passed since her last
visit, the less real the Interior seemed, and the less she remembered about it.
Sometimes in her dreams she could
hear the King talking to her but, of course, she never saw his face. Nor could Kitty recall what the apartment
looked like that she’d stayed in during her convalescence. The much-faded scar where the Minister’s
knife had gone into her side failed to jog her memory. Even when Kitty went to visit the Minister’s
grave, she found no marker, presumably because no one had known who he
was. Its absence only heightened her
sense of unreality. Not for the first
time did she wish Jack could remember his trip there, if only someone could
validate her experience. But she seemed
fated to just forget more and more about the Interior until, somehow, it would
cease to exist in her memory at all.
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