On their third date, Pandora began to open up.
In her childhood, she said, there had been… things. Harrowing specters (and here she wept) that emerged from the basement: malevolent figures—all the Sorrows of the World—which burnt her again, in memory, whenever she touched them.
Her eyes, like scars.
“Well,” said Schrödinger—two uncomfortable coughs. “I had a cat.”