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“Ask me,” he says in defeat. “You are not her. They built you to be
everything other than her. So ask me and you will have what I have. What
your neighbors have by now, though they never wanted it.”
“What?” Sophia can barely breathe. “What is it?”
“Knowledge of good,” he runs his finger affectionately down her nose.
“And evil.” Cascavel gazes over her head, back toward her house.
Sophia will go back to him. She already knows. She cannot stop herself
for much longer. She is a machine designed to return to its master. But she
will not go helpless.
She takes the apple, shuts her eyes, and sinks her teeth into its flesh.
Savor it all, she hears his voice saying to her while the fireflies danced. It’s
for you.
The sugar inside bursts into her mouth, singing. She swallows and
opens her eyes.
Inside the apple is a small iron key.
Cascavel stands, his voice full of sorrow and tenderness.
“Your husband’s name is Adam. The Big A. Number one on the factory
line. Old Mr. Dust. And that is a key to his basement. It is almost finished.”
Cascavel starts to walk back to the wall of struggling flowers. But he
pauses, a curious posture taking hold of his form. He raises one hand in an
elegant gesture. “Take the apple with you if you like,” he says lightly, as
though the thought has only just occurred to him and matters not a bit. “You
are beautiful and convincing too, Sophia. Make him eat it. You may find it
kills him.”