Eight months on and hitting a better patch, I think I can handle stuff. How wrong I am. How naive. So I open the Pandora's Box, pull out something which should be left alone, and find myself hurled headlong back down right to the bottom of the pit, right back to that place I found myself just after D's death. And it's all my own fault, because I had to know, had to pick away at something that did me no good.…
