The walks and rides would be monitored.She tried the door well after Marianne left: locked. It was always locked. And the windows, God knows she tried...to smash through the plexiglass, but of course it didn’t budge. None of her rumblings garnered any attention from the staff.There was a servant bell, but she let it accumulate dust. She wouldn’t give them gratification.Between the gilded prison and an emotional cage of her own design, she was lonely.More than lonely.So, she prayed. She prayed as. . mystical. Supernatural. Otherworldly. The rational part of my brain figured it was simply the result of years spent in each other's company, subconsciously learning each other's moods and behaviors the way a baby picks up language from his or her parents. But the rational part of my brain couldn't explain away the way we always seemed to be calling each other at the same time, or the way I could read her mood when we weren't even in the same room. The rational part of my brain couldn't. More

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