Cecil's mother had secrets she hoped to keep from her son for a very long time, eternity if it was possible. She knew that she could not live forever though, he would grow up and if the Gods were angry enough then some day, somehow he would find out about these secrets she'd spent her life trying to keep him from. That is why she wrote these secrets on paper, she explained them to the best of their abilities, apologized repeatedly, and went on about how Cecil was a good person. He was a gentle, curious child; he would grow to be a very kind and intelligent man. Once he found out the things she wished he would never know he would question himself, question his humanity, and his gentle nature. She wanted him to know his true nature changed nothing; none of this changed anything. These pages she put inside of a wooden box she bought from Josie, the woman knew everything; she had been the one who told her to write these secrets down in the first place. She promised her that she would look after Cecil for as long as she lived. She was grateful to Josie for this, she wanted to make sure somebody took care of her son even when she couldn't do it herself.
Her son knew about the box, the day she finished writing down her secrets and putting them away in the confines of this box she handed it to him. Automatically he went to open it, but she sternly told him to not open it, not yet. He had asked when, she had told him it would answer his questions when he knew what questions he needed to ask. The boy was inquisitive by nature, but he rarely questioned his mother or her eccentric sayings or beliefs. It had taken until he was about nine years old to finally ask her why they had no mirrors in their home, it had taken him until he was thirteen to ask why he had no father. She lied to him often, she hated to lie to him, but she had to. She apologized for it in the letters, he would understand some day.
The day she died she knew that she was going to die. The white lily on the porch told her all that she needed to know. Thankfully her son was at school, he didn't need to be home to witness her death no matter how simple or gruesome it would be. That day she didn't leave her home, she sat in the living room, waiting patiently. She hardly felt nervous when she heard knocking on the door, she almost felt a wave of calm come over her when she opened the door to see the man in the tan jacket standing there.