The silver light danced across the white tiles of the empty hall. I was brooding, my hand clenched around a jar of clay, my gaze fixated unseeingly upon the unfinished mural before me.
I had not set foot in this room for seven years, and apparently, neither had anyone else. The dust lay heavy upon the floor mixed with dirt and stone dust, and cobwebs of lonely spiders straggled the corners of the mighty pillars.
Ever since running out on her last night, since retreating from that starlit fantasy of a man I might be, my mind would not leave me alone. In unending parade, memories of my mother marched across my vision, refusing to cease their haunting. At last, desperate to escape, I fled to the one place around which they all centered, and found myself here, leaning against a makeshift scaffold, free of the ghosts but now brooding…
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