Elena Vasquez

The shadow that engulfed the alley wasn’t darkness.

It was void. The sort of darkness that devours noise that pushes on your eardrums until you sense your own pulse pounding like a drum inside a coffin. The sole illumination came from the crack, in the dome—slender, arterial crimson throbbing in rhythm with the city’s heartbeat. My heartbeat. Marco’s heartbeat. All of ours.

The mirrored-Rosa completely entered our reality.

She was flawless. Each braid, every mark, ...