Work Text:
Her breath fogs up the orb, and she remembers: she’s seven years old, sitting in church. It must be summertime, because her knees are bare as she swings her legs back and forth in the pew. All of a sudden, a hand whacks her leg, the surprise more than the pain startling her into stillness. She knows her mother’s touch, and looks over, but it doesn’t look like she’s moved at all. Her hands are folded in her lap, sharp eyes watching the priest drone on. Cora looks down at her own hands gripping the edge of the wood, and slowly laces them together.
Twenty-five years later, Jess comes back to herself. The weight of the glass feels slightly different in her hands. A thought rises to her mind, unbidden: How long would it take me to erase her? she wonders. More or less time than it took her to erase me?
She tosses the orb into the fountain anyway.