The rain stops at noon and so she go and prepare for her school, she get into a cold bath and stares at the floor for a while - maybe not a while maybe an hour or two, the skin on her fingertips aching to be warmed, to be held or kissed.
Long curly hair that smells like lavender and blood, and her uneven skin that go from the shade of spoiled milk to the tone of unripen olive.
Ea is nothing but a personification of a hollow virtue, a product of her society and time but then so unattached to it at the same time.
In the room where she sleeps every single night, the cream walls are decorated with nothing at day but filled with her thoughts at night,
YOU ARE READING
a lady's thought
Short StoryEa woke up with the dead body of Patya sitting on a chair adjacent to her bed.
