Chapter 3 · free to read
Two inks. One of them had been on that page for three years. One of them had not.
I had been in that shop before. For three weeks I had been telling myself the shelves only felt familiar.
Fourteen-year-old me found a letter on this floor with nothing written on the front. She almost left it lying there.
She had run the length of the arcade. She could have simply telephoned and she did not want to.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.