She allowed herself to lean into Anathema, accepting the reassurance. After a traumatic experience, Flavia thought it might be permissible, even briefly. She nods, thinking that Anathema might not be correct; the Flavia in the vision hadn't seemed much older than she was now--maybe if she'd stayed back home, she was already dead. A maid whom there were none to praise, indeed. She hoped her funeral had been utterly smashing.

Taking a deep breath, she says, "I was back home, at Buckshaw. I was on the roof, and someone was chasing me."