The library carpet was blood red. Crimson Anaglypta covered the walls, and the wingback armchairs were upholstered in oxblood leather. The bookcases held shelves of fine bindings clearly not intended for reading. […]
Spring transitioned out of crawl and into run at the top of the Martian ridge they’d been climbing. The ground was still littered with rocks of all sizes, but the flat terrain made running possible again. […]
Night is not a substance. Substance implies surface, and night is a hollow distance. You cannot touch the night, and if it touches you, it does so carelessly, giving some fast small thing — a running human — the space to throw itself headlong into an unseen obstacle. […]
She licked her fingers clean upon exiting Notre-Dame Basilica. I thought she was lapping holy water — I did not have her memories then so I fantasized: her fingers pressed into the soaked sponge near the egress, […]
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