She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. ‘For instance, why have you reverted to your nun’s habit for this particular adventure?’ ‘That is easy. You are marvelous!” Carolyn Diedermayer exclaimed. Third period was Art, where they sat side by side at a table and carved linoleum for block prints together. The first peg was torture. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. She and her husband have no children and ten computers. . He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own.
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