Helen sits on the old mattress in the old family home. She lays the buckle down carefully between her legs, and removes her hands from it twisted metalwork. She allows her thoughts to move once more. Closing her eyes briefly, she opens them again to find herself kneeling on a volcanic beach, her hands dug into the black sand. Looking up across the surface of lake, she was light ripple across as lines of silver. Hanna’s voice is in the air, with the slow, remorseless chanting from monks on the further shore.
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