I had spent three years trying to prove that the body was not a prison, and on that Tuesday in November, I was going to prove it by walking out of my apartment as someone I had never been before.
The vial sat on my kitchen table, catching the morning light the way sapphire catches light — deep blue on the surface, almost black at the center, with threads of silver running through it like rivers on a map of a country that did not yet exist. I had made it in my laboratory at the Hudson Valley Research Institute, under fluorescent lights that hummed at a frequency I could hear but nobody...
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