"They hung suspended in darkness. Palm touching palm, skin against bone." - The final part of Refractions.

With his hands he traced the familiar shapes. Only a layer of paint more, only a shade brighter than the wall, they were barely noticeable.

There was something strange about her. The busker frowned. She was somehow fuzzy around the edges. A faint black glow engulfed her.

He pushed open the door just wide enough to slip through. The light outside was already beginning to fade; shadows crept out of the ground.

This wasn’t good. Not good at all. She had run off, it seemed, without even intending to do so. Again.

It was a strange day to begin with. There was a fissure which only he could see and black light was radiating from it.