[It isn't until the mist clears out Monday morning that Sasha can regenerate the damage that was done. Coming back from death isn't easy on the body, and in spite of the smell of decomposition in her loft and the obnoxious amount of shed snakeskin, Sasha winds up napping most of the day away. When she wakes up again
late Monday night? Something else has taken over in her weakness. Or maybe it's just another hallucination.]
[Public][As Anonymous:]
Ti koulèv k'ap grandi se anba wòch ke li rete. Ou we sa ou genyen, ou pa konn sa ou rete. Ou konn kouri, ou pa konn kache. Sa ou pa konnen pi gran pase ou.
Se met ko kiveye ko. Li malad. Li mwen, Damballah. Mwen ka swanye. Se lè koulèv mouri ou wè longè-l.
[Translation (Haitian Creole):
Little snakes need to grow in hiding. You know what you've got, but you don't know what's coming. You know how to run, but you don’t know how to hide. What you do not know is bigger than you.
It is the owner of the body who looks out for the body. She is sick. She is mine, Damballah. I will cure her. It is when the snake dies that you can see its size.]