One afternoon, I was in my room trying to take a nap, when Columbia arrived. I opened one eye to watch her come over to the bed and settle in beside me, tucking her head into the crook of my neck, and resting an arm across my body. I sighed, letting my eyes close again, even though I knew it was unlikely she was hoping for silence. About two minutes later, she gently pawed at me until I opened my eyes, and I found her face floating above mine.

"Mags, have you ever loved anyone besides Riff?" she asked in a small, child-like voice. I stared at her in the mostly dark room and squinted to try and make out her facial expression. She looked exhausted, but not unhappy.

"No," I said, after a moment, "I'm not even sure that what I feel for Riff is exactly the same as what you call love."

Columbia was quiet a moment, lowering her head to my chest. I could feel her pulse against my side, a soft and steady thumping. Her skin was warm. I had missed her, but I was still slightly tense, knowing where she had probably just come from.

"Do you think you can love two people at once?"

I frowned, mulling this question over. I couldn't admit to being an expert on love. Love had become very unimportant in Transylvania, with many of our traditions and rituals that involved that level of emotion becoming unheard of. My parents were in love though. I didn't remember much about them, but I could recall how they were around each other. I remembered watching them together and hoping one day to find a love as strong as theirs. That thought had been crushed by their deaths, by my promiscuous trips to the tavern. Men were only good for one thing. Of course, as my feelings for Riff had developed, I had again come to question this. Now, in all honesty, I was not sure of my thoughts on the matter.

"I don't know, Columbia," I said, hoping not to come across too bluntly.

She was silent a while longer. My heart felt heavy, wishing I had the answers for her. I could see where this conversation was going, and it made me want to scream at her. She couldn't love Frank. Someone like Frank did not deserve someone like Columbia's love. He did not deserve her sweet, soft lips to kiss his skin, or her gentle fingers to caress him. He did not deserve any of it and it made me so angry I wanted to storm in there now and snap him in half like a twig. But I couldn't. Just like I couldn't tell Columbia who she could love. I just knew that, despite never having met him, it was Eddie that she belonged with. Eddie who showed up in the middle of the night to take her away, like some sort of knight in shining armour, only he rode a roaring lump of metal rather than a horse. Eddie who I was sure would do anything for her in a heartbeat, whilst Frank would happily throw her out on the streets.

"You hate him, don't ya?" her voice was so small I had to strain to hear her, even with our faces so close.

"Who?"

She sighed, "Frank."

I didn't know what to say to that. It was fairly obvious how I felt about him, though I knew better than to rant to her about it. I didn't get physically punished by him, so she didn't see it. She'd never had to dress my brother's wounds, or hear him cry out in pain in the middle of the night. He wasn't even particularly stern with her. She was allowed to eat meals with him; meals which she did not have to prepare, or clean up after. Sure, she trailed behind me cleaning, but I had never been clear on whether that was out of choice or not.

Of course I hated him. He had taken Riff and I from our home. As far as I could work out, he had given Riff no choice, and I had been dragged along because I could not be left behind. After what had happened all those months ago in the dining room, I felt I probably knew the real reason I had been forced to come along, although how I had been let off from that since, I was not quite sure. I felt like I had been marked by those hands, still sometimes dreamt of their rough touch. I always awoke with a desperate need to wash thoroughly. When Columbia went to him, it was consensual. She could never understand what he had done to me, much less because I had not told her, and refused to do so.

"I do," I said after a while of contemplation. She let out an exasperated, but quiet, sigh. Her breath felt warm against my skin.

"It would be easier if I hated him."

I nodded. She wriggled up the bed, so her head was now beside mine, her face turned to the side, whilst mine lay flat against my pillow. I didn't need to look at her to imagine the pained expression on her face; I had seen it often enough. She snuggled into my side, and I tucked my arm around her, squeezing her gently.

"I wish I could help," I said, my eyes still closed.

"I don't think anyone can."

Her voice sounded so small and broken that I turned my head to face hers, running my fingers down her side until I found her hand and squeezed it tight in mine. I didn't say anything, but as my eyes met hers for several moments, I felt like we said everything that needed to be said.