Art Gallery, Saturday
While she was no closer to understanding the draw of imperfect representations of yet more imperfect objects, Myria studying the paintings. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, a sensation that was confusing and distressing.
Glands again, no doubt.
Being human, she surmised, was something like slowly losing your sense of self. When you'd never really had one to begin with.
The gallery was open for business, of course.
Glands again, no doubt.
Being human, she surmised, was something like slowly losing your sense of self. When you'd never really had one to begin with.
The gallery was open for business, of course.