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Then she talks about Celso. The way he looks at her. The way she felt a strange, sick thrill when he did—because at least someone saw her. Not as a ward, not as a burden. As a woman.

Lúcia picks up the camera. She ejects the tape. She holds it in her palm—a tiny plastic coffin containing everything: the dread, the confession, the madness. As-Panteras---Louco-Desejo-da-Sobrinha.avi

One night, Sônia corners Lúcia in the kitchen. The knife is out—not a threat, but a prop. She’s chopping onions. Tears stream down her face, real or manufactured, it’s impossible to tell. Then she talks about Celso