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Summary
It is a strange sort of unity she feels like this, alone, body bearing witness to what her mind would not. Perhaps, if she spent long enough looking in her mirror, she could see her past selves, or the marks of them, but never so intimately as she feels them, as she knows them when she traces every ridge and pocket left upon her skin by a life too harshly lived.
Or,
Ana touches upon her past, and touches herself.
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