Florence stumbled past Guillaume. “Are you okay?” he called after her.
“Huh?” she asked in a daze. “Oh, I’m… fine.” Florence was becoming paler by the second. Guillaume touched her shoulder, but she pulled gingerly away.

He worried about her the next few days. Florence locked herself in her room, and at night, he heard cries of anguish. On the fourth day, he opened her door to find her lying in squalor. “Flor?” Guillaume whispered. Without warning, her dark head lifted to reveal her bloodshot eyes.
“Go, Gull. I don’t want to do this,” she cried quietly.
“What?” He snapped. His eyes widened as she lunged at him.
“Sorry,” Florence said quietly, and wiped her mouth.