She seems set in her beliefs, that nothing can be changed. As much as that bothers me for some reason, I'm not about to fight with her about it -- or anybody else about a personal belief, if it's truly personal. This is. This is her problem, because she wants it to be. In the same way, I suppose, I feel about the rift between my father and myself.

"Well, then, ah--"

I pause, shifting my feet around in the glittering wet glass, rivulets of cold water still moving through the field of it. It would be shitty behavior to cut and run while she's still here, especially if this is every night for her.

Why this? Why the crows, why the glass case?

"Then you can't just wake yourself?"