She seemed content next to her father. An air of unawareness surrounded her, as if her brother and mother were well, and the past few weeks had never happened. Moore admired that state of in-the-now in which young children immersed themselves, and which adults regret, because if you use your child-eyes you erase the bad things. Beside Shelly Lynn existed a presence, not something Moore visualized but something she felt in the way you sense the slope of floor in an uneven room. There was a dip of reality around Shelly Lynn into which Moore felt herself drawn, but not quite able to reach or see. The Embodiment lived there, a shimmering presence both clear and vague, infinite and human, a shadow with the burning weight of the sun. He contradicted existence and defied explanation, becoming a dichotomy of dominance and love, your humble and ever-knowing king-servant. When He spoke, she heard no words, but understood His thunderous whisper. The Embodiment left her, of course.
