[...There is a part of Alice that is opposed to this. There is a part of Alice that does not want this. There is a part of Alice that gnashes and claws at the restraints holding it in place, that cries bloody vengence for this, that fights over and over in vain to resume control.

But that part has no power in the room with Caulder; Alice's motions are calm and confidant before him, as though she was of one mind of this.

As though she were sane.
The mask of normalcy is frail and flimsy, but it is sufficient. For all its efforts, that part of her mind can do nothing to change her actions as she cuddles with and dotes on Caulder.

And so that angry, hateful part of her mind struggles less and less, until the voice in her head that tells her this is all wrong, that she doesn't love him, that she has a choice, that she didn't have to kill all those people, that there is some better way-fades

to

silence.]