p."

His visage was transformed by the memory, radiant and gentle now, as he
re-lived the moment.

"True. You have clearly done your homework." - She confirmed reluctantly
and addressed her son:

"Edward, what did you see in a book that made you cry so violently and
inconsolably when you just a toddler?"

"It was an art book. There was a color reproduction of a painting of a
group of patricians standing on an elevated porch, glancing over the
railing at a scene below them. I can't recall any other detail, but the
whole atmosphere was tenebrous and sinister. I was so frightened that I
burst into wails. For some reason, you were not there, you were gone!" -
And he pouted as he must have done back then when he had felt abandoned
and betrayed by his mother.

"Althea, what was I wearing the first time we met, when Edward
introduced you to me?"

Althea, the mouse, looked up in surprise:

"You introduced me to Edward, not the other way around!" - She protested
- "I met you at the clinic, remember? Lording it over everyone, as
usual." - She laughed bitterly and I shot her a warning glance, afraid
that she might provoke Isabel into violent action - "Anyways, you were
wearing precisely what you have on today, down to the tiniest detail.
Even the brooch is the same, if I can tell."

And so it went. All three were able to fend off Isabel's fiendish
challenges with accurate responses. Finally, evidently exhausted, she
conceded defeat:

"Though my heart informs me differently, my head prevails and I am
forced to accept that you are my true family. I hereby offer you the
prostrate apologies that I have promised to make before." - She sprang
abruptly from her seat - "And now, I am tired, I must sleep." - She
ignored her husband's clumsy attempt to kiss her on the cheek and, not
bidding farewell or good night to any of us, she exited the room in an
apparent huff.

/*4. Post-Mortem*/

"What did you make of what you have just witnessed?"

Isabel snuck into the guest bedroom and settled into an overstuffed
armchair at a penumbral corner. She was still wearing the same dress,
though her jewelry was gone. I watched her reflection in my makeup
mirror, as I was removing the war paint from my face, clad in my
two-part, lilac-strewn pajamas. I felt naked and embarrassed and violated.

"They did pretty well." - I hedged my answer, not sure where she might
be leading.

"They did rather too well." - She triumphantly proclaimed,