Parts of me silently drift to the floor, and lay there. A pubic hair by the bathmat, a toenail clipped and missed the trashcan, unseen flakes of skin that might eventually get noticed as dust. Miraculous stray bits, once integral, now like leaves on the forest floor, now unattached, now part of the whole.
Lured, She wound the delicate silver chain round and round and round her belly. Unbreakable, fluid armour pretending to be embellishment. Its cool touch numbs like a cast spell, unnoticed. Worn so long, the links have fused. No knife can cut it. No hands can tear it. No heat can melt it. Only breath, breath can begin the unwinding.