Kuyper grimaced. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad do you think it would be if—“

“At least a twenty.” The crusty old man finished Kuyper’s sentence abruptly. He threw a contemptuous glance in his direction. “Now. If you’ll leave me to my own business, I’d be glad to lock the door behind you.” He turned away, heading for the back door of the shop.

“No, no, no.” Kuyper slid between him and the door. “No. Not until you tell me who you are. And how you got that thing.”

“What thing.” His voice sounded like it was in an old can.

Tiny child, by your parents torn apart,
I wish I could hold you in my arms; not my heart.
Unloved, unprotected, not held by loving hands;
Your demise is cheered on and upheld in this land.

Unloved, unwanted, torn and abused:
Cast aside for selfish pleasure, broken; confused.
They pursued their own lust and chased after their pleasure,
Not facing their sins but removing their treasure.

(This poem tells a story of a girl who works as a slave at a wealthy but evil household. They make her life a living hell. So she decides to escape, but not before taking her revenge. The "silver cage" refers to her environment. Beautiful house, gorgeous garden, amazing art on the walls and all that jazz. But she is dying to escape.)

As the ivory white tiles glowed
The cashmere curtains fluttered
In the ghastly winter wind that blew
The fragile maids' teeth chattered

           The events in his life seemed unavoidable; as if nothing in this world could have stopped the things that transpired in the dark night, yet we will never know. I wonder if he ever imagined the terror that he would have to endure forevermore the night that he closed that window and replaced the sword up against the mantelpiece were it had rested for generations. He must have known that thoughts of the past would haunt him forevermore, causing him to seal himself off from the world permanently in hopes that they would never find him. But who can tell?