The Pale Fracture
The silk scarf, a deep and bruised purple that had once been the color of a midsummer plum, was knotted tightly around my neck, and I did not pull at it, nor did I loosen it, because I had come to believe that it was not an accessory but a part of my own anatomy, a second skin that had fused with the flesh of my throat in a slow, invisible calcification that had begun years ago in the quiet,...
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