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“Want. That is the driving force, isn’t it? Possession is derived at birth with the mother’s breast.” Eyes dipping to my chest, she palms the edge of my breast, and when I bat away her hand, the corner of her lip lifts with amusement. “Possession evolves over time, with darker motives, of course. Mine is to possess what every man left on this planet covets most: an untouched woman.”

I glance back to the pool again, where two of the women give life to my thoughts as they fondle and kiss each other. “As in … sexually?”

“No, of course not. You see, wealth is measured by what you possess. Control. And what you choose to control gives tangibility to what you desire most. A man who collects guns spoils for war. A woman who collects jewels longs to be seen as rare and beautiful as a gem. You are the object of desire, of chastity and purity, and as the one who possesses such treasure, I am the envied.”

Perhaps it’s the concussion, the events of the last two days, or over exhaustion, but the broken bits of her words fail to come together, as I try to imagine how my virtue benefits her.

“You must be hungry. And exhausted. In dire need of fresh clothes. Come, darling, let me show you to your room.”

With another glance back at the pool, I’m reminded that, at the moment, I have no home. No one looking out for me here. I’m on my own. Is this worse than the convent? Is pretending to be some strange woman’s coveted gem as bad as facing Mother Chilson’s scorn?

It’s too much to process on an empty stomach and little sleep, so even with my suspicions and hesitation, I follow after her, taking note of the beastly man who follows after me.

“Forgive the outdated decor,” she says, breezing through an open room that has so many windows, not an inch of the inside is untouched by the sunlight. The furniture throughout looks as if it’s never been used, the fabrics vibrant and clean, begging to be broken in. Colorful and intricately-detailed works of art hang from the walls. Scenes of women from the Roman period, if my history lessons are anything to go by, loose-fitting garments hardly covering their voluptuous figures. Mosaic tapestries mirror the ones I’ve seen in books, making me wonder how she managed to procure these things believed to be non-existent these days. “It’s not easy finding interior designers in this climate.”

The woman must be delusional. Old enough to have lived through the first wave of Dredge, she must surely be accustomed to what the world around her has become. And yet, there are those living in Szolen who’ve never seen beyond the walls. Have no idea of the death that stripped the world of its vitality. Not even I had ever ventured out before, but my father brought stories of famine and violence. Told me of the desolation and, ultimately, desperation that afflicted those who lived in the Deadlands.

“Do you leave this place much?”

“Of course I do! Silly girl, how do you think I manage supplies?”

There is a certain brilliance in crazy, I’ve found, and perhaps it’s been her means of survival. My grandmother had a patient who suffered from tertiary syphilis, and had begun to go mad toward the end of his life. Most of the hours, he rambled on in some foreign biblical tongue that didn’t coincide with what I learned at church.

But it didn’t seem all that farfetched, either.

He spoke of the tunnels beneath a hospital, where creatures brought forth the deadly plague that wiped out our world. An ancient species whose wrath would, one day, be unleashed in another deadly wave that would allow them to conquer.

The other caretakers called him a lunatic.

I, on the other hand, always wondered if God sent harbingers to speak in a tongue that we couldn’t understand, and only those with open minds might glean some long-awaited answers.

“You’ve done well for yourself here.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I’d like to think it’s my relentless pursuit of hope that has kept me alive.”

“You believe the world will return to what it once was.”

“I hope it doesn’t! We lived beyond our means. Beyond this world’s capacity to accommodate our greed. No … my hope for the future is much simpler. I want to drown myself in art and mirth, music and sexual liberation!”

Unless I was hit hard enough to cause hallucinations, it seems she’s done just that.

Gaze cruising over the ridiculous surroundings once again, I shake my head. “The world has no place for hedonism anymore, in case you didn’t happen to notice the destruction outside of here.”

“Pleasure is derived by knowing and accepting the limitations of desire.”

“Epicurus.”

Lips curving with a smile, she winks at me. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

“You enslave women. How does that factor into your philosophies?”

“Do those women look unhappy to you? Do they look like slaves? I liberate them by providing a safe means to offer what men are so inclined to take. Out there? They’re food for the wolves. But here? They’re goddesses. Untouchable.”

“Unless someone offers the right price.”

Shrugging, she leads me through what I surmise to be something of a living room. “Of course. My protection comes at a cost. The concept is nothing new, even to this world.”

Her interest in me is still obscure, but I feel as if I’ve been running in circles.