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St. Vincent I

Blue had been staring into her coffee cup for quite some time. It had been days since she’d last seen Vincent. The numbness that had spread from her chest to her fingertips made her consider whether she was suffering withdrawal. Her breakfast had no taste. Making sense of the words neatly printed in her current read was an impossible task. The television had bored her. She’d grown tired of watching cars pass in the street. Yet she found joy in the rippling of her tea as someone shuffled about upstairs. Wondered if Vincent saw the same light rolling and breaking on the surface of her stained water in his shaving basin. Whether he hadn’t the mind to look.

As her maid mounted the first step of the staircase, she watched the woman buckle in place. Turn to face her in her peripheral. Finally, Blue felt her curiosity ignite, her minute enthusiasm so foreign. Glancing up, she met Anya’s gaze. Smiled a small that stopped just short of her eyes. Lost her inter

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