Rebecca: You're wrong. The good things I remember about my father - the walks we took, the fairy tales he read to me - they all really happened.
Ernessa: He read you other fairy tales that you forgot.
Ernessa: # My mother, she butchered me. My father, he ate me. My sister, little Anne-Marie, she gathered up the bones of me, and tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper. Tweet, tweet, what a pretty bird am I! #