20 June 2025
Friday. Midwinter, so my mist came up thick tonight and curled round the dolls’ feet. People always ask about the mist. It is theatre smoke, the grown-ups say, and they warn anyone with asthma or a bad chest before they book, because it hangs about and gets into everything. I think it is pretty.
And I love the dark. Sometimes my candles go out all at once, and sometimes the light flashes, quick quick quick, like lightning kept in a jar. The grown-ups tell people who mind flashing lights to pick a different room. That seems sensible. Not everyone is built for my house.
A woman tonight held her friend’s hand through every dark bit and said it was for her friend’s sake. It was for her own sake. I could tell.
Pudding has started creaking in the dark without being asked. I am so proud of him.
— Cathy (please come back)
