Charlotte's eyes narrowed as Myron said that. "Yes. I am crazy. Do not, I repeat, do not tell me different. I mentally insane, unbalanced, impure. Knowing I am a lunatic is the only thing that is keeping me slightly reasonable." She sighed, as if that explanation was the most logical justification for her actions. "I am crazy, insane, off my bonkers, lost my marbles and loosing more." Saying that, the girl felt a large weight lifted off her shoulders. Admitting to someone else of what she was helped to ease the burdens that came with it.

"I did not. I did not tell you about this for a full six years because it isn't a big deal!" The tea cup shattered into a thousand pieces, the antique rug stained an amber brown. "They Are nothing Myron. That's why I didn't tell you. Damn, I don't want to talk about this right now!" Charlotte's hands curled into her hair, pulling it slightly. Again, the white lines on her wrists and arms were shown, all the scars, all the pain. It seemed as though they wept, without crying, without screaming.

"It's nothing, nothing nothing nothing, tra la la. Is she fonder of dolls or of goblins or of shoes..."