Every loving, endearing, romance of language he published in the newspapers about the haunted mansion had only been to lower her guard. To weaken her. To lure her. To keep it from being demolished before he got the chance to bleed her of everything she'd ever been worth.

I wasn't sure if I'd imagined you and it'd be very telling of my mental state if I was bringing sodas to something I'd imagined.

The utopian candy shell melted away to a hard center of bizarre reality.

His brain didn't want her to go, and he was afraid his subconscious would badger it's only witness into believing she didn't have to.