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“Shush. You’ll blur the image. Now…sit still, princess. This will only take a moment. Cameras are so much faster than they used to be.”

“You make it sound like you were there when they were invented.” She chuckled.

“Perhaps I was,” he teased. “Where do you think I got all this white hair? Now. Shush.”

Obediently, she schooled her face into a passive expression, and went back to gazing out the window, watching the birds in the grass outside his home as she had been before he walked in.

A photograph of her? A worthless lunatic? She felt a bit like a carnival freak on display. But he had been so kind to her…so gentle. It was worth a few moments of humiliation if it meant she was no longer in the asylum. It was the least she could do in return for the man who had saved her from such torture.

She wondered if her image would be published in a medical journal. She could see the headline now—raving madwoman turned to proper lady!

Maybe he could charge admission.

Maybe then she’d actually be worth something.

Quickly closing the file,she shoved it away from her. “No. No. I’m done. I’m out.” She gathered up her sketchbook and tucked it under her arm. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I—” She dropped her pencil and scrambled for it, shoving it into her hoodie pocket.

“Marguerite, wait. Please.” Rinaldo reached for her. “Don’t be scared.”

Tears were stinging her eyes. She didn’t listen to him. She shook her head and ran. He hollered for her, his voice echoing through the library. But she didn’t care. She needed to get away from him. From that photo. From the false memories.

From the lies.

She wasn’t that woman in the photo. If she was, it was a carefully staged fake, like the antique photo of Gideon that was sitting in her apartment.

She ran until her legs burned. She didn’t even know where she was going. She had made it three blocks—that was pretty damn impressive for her. She would have been prouder of the achievement if it also didn’t feel like she was going to throw up.

Leaning against a building, she clutched her sketchbook to her chest and struggled to fill her aching lungs with air. Swiping her sleeve across her face, she ignored the stares of the passersby as they glanced nervously at her. Not like she blamed them. Random woman on the street having a breakdown? That was worth a stare.

After a few moments, she decided it was better to walk than run again. It didn’t look like Rinaldo was following her. She made her way back to her favorite place in the city—the Central Burying Ground. She sat down with her back to a tree. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she rested her head on her knees, hiding from the world around her. And hiding it from her.

Silently, she cried.