Chapter 3 · free to read
For a hundred years the pain only ran toward me. Tonight I would learn if it could run the other way on purpose.
Half the hall away, she felt it. My wound, wearing her skin now.
She spoke of the frame — the fragile thing that holds a reflection and its source together.
She wanted me sealed. But you cannot re-cage a thing that has finally remembered it has hands.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.