She slips her sleeve up, runs her fingers along the ridges of them, the valleys, the peaks, all that rigid tissue. Some of it smooth. Some wrinkled. Some so it has no texture at all, bone white, looking like discolored skin. "I can't bear to look at myself, and I don't know why," she says, after a long pause.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-01-16 06:36 pm (UTC)