Twirling in pleated skirts
She talked to the shadows on the wall while roaming around an empty house. Laughing with one man and cursing another, she spent an immeasurable time pacing and rocking or twirling in her pleated skirts. She would always run in corridors, looking back at the shadows chasing her.
“…she spent an immeasurable time pacing and rocking or twirling in her pleated skirts.”
Mirrors would remind her of who she is and worse, what she was not. A chair is just another chair when she notices herself in the mirror; her skin would turn grey and her dress would become a mere frock.
She was a recluse, an impenetrable soul. Nobody would ever know what was going on inside her head.
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Story credit: Image via W Magazine.