Maw’s own husband long since whored out and gone, her own two grown daughters harsh and garrisoned against her, but this sweet new creature come for healing—Maw swaddled Claudine in an attentive rapture. At night she dreamed of lavender men with roses for eyes and blue delphinium rising up long and stout between their legs, Claudine feeding them to Maw with tea in the afternoon. They tasted of love, like powdered honey and orange blossoms. Maw would wake smiling, laughing at herself, and go check on Claudine. Was she resting comfortably? Had she heard the one about the girl in the forest, who bent down to grasp what she thought was the tip of a mushroom?