• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 05
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She stands on fissured concrete, white, blemished, head turned from the shadow-self that leaks from her feet, spilling over hard, grey earth. The spectre of captivity threatens and creeps. There is no water here, no grass, no grain. What is this useless, lifeless place? It is haunted by half-things, almost-things, unfinished things. Faded, scarred. She is surrounded.