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Friday fiblet: Fidelity

Her finger moved across his eyebrow. Most of the hairs were smooth, black, resilient: a few stood rough, orange, wiry. She treasured the contrast. She moved up to press her lips there, her soft sweet mouth against…

A mirror. A flat, cold mirror.

Cold panic swelled her breast, then she recovered. She caressed him with her eyes and voice.

“Love?”

He was frozen, lost. Static.

Universal coldness briefly clasped her. Then letters formed above his head:

“I LOve” < carrier lost >

It was enough. Pulling a deep breath past her aching throat, she began.

“I know this will reach you, love…”

~ by BT Murtagh on April 25, 2014.

fiblet, fiction, Writing