in one moment the story failed to hold her and the sun crept in to work her skin with skilled fingers. her armor dripped in quivering beads of mercury rendering a metallic chalk outline at the scene of the crime. she baked in the warm sweet softness of vulnerability. in the seduction her mind travelled to a purple wildflower of a girl, twirling and laughing, collapsing with dizziness into the hot sand at the edge of
california. the girl is pure possibility, open and ripe with expectation. the judge, the warrior, the persuader are strangers, roles unknown and not yet chosen.
her eyes open to bright blindness. she reaches for the book to retrieve some semblance of composure and return to the safe confines of someone
else's story.
