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She first noticed the thickening of her
skin when her small evening dress was not quite, didn't quite, let
her breathe. And her tight pants, which he said were breathtaking,
just wouldn't, quite hold.
She bought larger clothes to adorn
her skin. They disguised the thickening, and he didn't notice. So
that was better. But she knew, and that, for her, was something
sickening.
She lived within those extra sheets for a while
and her breathing became slower and easier and soon, so soon,
she felt one fresh release with a slow exhale towards life.
So
she lived for a sentence like this. With him following and not
looking and when the pain hit and the new hunger struck, she
left.
Life is comfortable and warm now. But the thickening
is spreading fast again, too quickly for her mind to
comprehend. It is outside but she suspects inside also and the
reason, this time, is meaningless.
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