The meeting ends and she and Sam are the only ones that remain by the dying driftwood fire. The smoke has turned the man sitting across from her into a ghostly silhouette, and she smiles bitterly at the thought that she must look the same way to him. It's only fitting, after all. She doesn't feel like herself. She holds her hand in front of her face and it is just as unfamiliar as Sam in the near-blackness. She is no longer Emily Young. She is a sorceress, a temptress, come to lead the golden boy astray. She is wicked.
