[ If his demonic gift of second sight does indeed glimpse a kindred soul in the uniformed child, it might similarly glimpse the abraded condition of her soul, like a branch stripped thin by repeated application of the axe, until it is but a wisp in a fallow field. She is full of character, a certain character, yet almost hollow within. The cause of this incongruity is the final secret, guarded with the utmost vigilance and brutality by the one in the know.

She has no devil on her back, to scale her epaulettes and whisper verboten knowledge in her ear; she is the imp, and as such feels connected to him (or is it them?). Even so, a connection does not assure camaraderie in and of itself. An unfavourable connection is a thing to be severed. She is here to pass a judgement of her own. ]

My name is Millie Manx, my sssweet.

[ She parodies his phrasing with a serpentine lilt too odd to even pass for sarcasm. Ah, he needn't dwell; kids enjoy doing silly voices, no...? ]

Verity, Mr Mordrake. We're wired like telephones, and I don't know why. Not exactly. It's how I made the call.

[ Millie nears the gentleman. She lifts an arm and snares his jaw in hand. Her flesh lacks human warmth. Her forefinger invades his mouth and presses on his teeth as if to pry him open wide. ]

Do you know why?