Fractured Lines
Fractured LinesThe painting was almost finished. Nora Voss could tell by the way the canvas looked at her — not the way it looked with her eyes, which were tired and bloodshot from three hours of staring, but the way it looked with something else. Something behind her eyes. The thing her mother called "the sight."It was a bayou scene. Dusk. The water was dark and still and wrong — too still,...
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