Reginald vaguely remembered the poem. It had been his last day in the house, and he'd heard murmurings from all around his room -- the closet, the bathroom, under the bed maybe -- but he'd been too miserable to investigate much. He'd also privately wondered if he was simply hallucinating. Being British, Reginald was quite familiar with the One for Sorrow nursery rhyme. It had always been one of his daughter's favorites. He'd never caught Their original rendition of it though.
"Six for the parents and the children they sold."
Something in that line sent a chill through Reginald's entire body. It temporarily felt as though his heart was pumping only cold water. He couldn't even say why it bothered him so, but it sat poorly with him.
"Right then," he decided, sighing softly and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Cecilia, may I ask you some questions? They may seem strange, and perhaps personal. I do hope you'll forgive that. I wonder if you would tell me a bit about your family. Your whole family, mind you. You told me once you were an only child. No children. Any cousins?"