My sister was a person of passion. I fear I am not, which, at times, strained our relations. Yes. I can see where she might follow a clever, impressionable young man out the door. Were she alive, sir, she might have taken hold of your heart. Made it her own. But once knowing it belonged to her, it would lose its luster, and soon she would abandon it for another. If she haunts you, fear not. With time, her gaze will wander. That is unless in death, she’s finally learned the fragility of our hearts, now that she can no longer dangle hers like a shimmering charm.
That she would learn of love only when it was no longer hers to give. That would be a fate of strange and terrible irony.
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