Nedyfay

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next. Down, down, down – but somehow, she knew she was not going to hurt herself when she landed. She would just leap straight to her feet and go into a corridor with locked doors on either side, and one small locked door hidden behind a curtain, and she would find a golden key that fit it perfectly but have no means of getting through. And she would cry, and there would be a mouse and a whole menagerie of other animals, and they would race to get dry and then she would have to give

The bed was narrow – she had felt the springs coming up through the matress worn thin by many years of use – and covered with old sheets and a filthy blanket. There was no other light in the room but the flickering lamp on the bedside table, but some of the light from the street lamps outside filtered through the moth-eaten curtains. The whole room smelled of stale air and under that, very faintly, she could pick up the sickening odour of faulty plumbing. But it was cheap and the door had a sturdy lock, and she was so very, very tired. She was standing naked in front of the full-body mirror in the bathroom. The sharp light merciles

Du skriver navnet mitt med pensel langs underarmen din. Store bokstaver hele veien. På nytt og på nytt skriver du navnet mitt, med myk bust mot tynn hud. Usynlige bokstaver overlapper hverandre. For hver gang du skriver navnet mitt, blir du litt mer min. Litt mindre din egen. Bokstavene er usynlige. Bare du og jeg vet at de er der. Men det er nok. Jeg ba aldri om å få deg. Du bare ga deg til meg – alt ved deg. Og du er vakker, der du ligger, beseiret – igjen. Ikke det at du tok til motmæle, å nei. Aldri du. Ikke mot meg. Et ord, og jeg er borte. Penselen stryker sakte over blodårene i håndle