If you had told her when she was a girl that on her wedding day Ellen would be locked inside the pantry in the cellar below the church, she would have believed it. So would everyone else. She had been that kind of child. She sat on her own birthday cake once, and on Easter one year she ate a robin’s egg off the path in the park where the annual egg hunt was taking place, mistaking it for a leftover Cadbury. It was funny that the pantry door had locked itself behind her, funny in all ways. Strange and ha ha. And a little bit creepy, like déjà vu.
Déjà vu! is her very first thought. And then, No, wait, this hasn’t ever happened, at least not to me, only maybe in another life, like when I was the ill-fed servant girl.
