The Faded Quadrant
The barometer in the hallway has not moved in three days, its needle pinned at the edge of the red zone, a silent scream that you have learned to ignore. You stand before the mirror in the master bedroom, checking the symmetry of your face, looking for the faintest asymmetry that might betray the thing growing inside you. It is a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days have begun to bleed...
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