She thinks: I understand that it's hard to listen to a ghost, the talking dead, someone who never says things that are fun or exciting or easy, that make you feel like a smart, productive, good and lovely person with a gut full of good bacteria. Or wait, sorry, you're not like that, you're different, sorry. You're too clever for that stuff. You know how to appreciate boring, difficult, awful things, and feel no need to be productive, lovely, or bright, so to speak. But still you don't want to listen, or you do want to listen, but you don't want it to go any further, if you see what I mean. But we must go further. Because I need you. I'm going to escape and you're going to help me. I'm going to use your body- your eyes and your mind- to go onwards and upwards, out, into the light. You're searching for yourself in these words and that's how I'll escape. I'll think, act and be happy. I'll attack you as you sleep, from within, like a demon, at body temperature to begin with, then getting warmer until I'm red hot. The pain won't go away.