But she did it. She traced the bone beneath her hoodie. The camera on the website zoomed in, not voyeuristically, but reverently, like a nature documentary observing a rare bird.
The screen changed. The high-definition video melted into a simple mirror. Her own tired, beautiful face stared back. www.ifeelmyself.com
And for the first time, she was home.
Elara’s breath hitched. The website knew things. It wasn't pulling from her search history or her social media. It was pulling from the diary she never wrote, the ache she never voiced. But she did it
"Now, your forearm. The place where you scratched your skin raw during finals week in college. Forgive it." the ache she never voiced. "Now