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Chapter Seven

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Chapter Seven

It was better not to rush into the unknown.  I willed the Dark Thing to arm me in an even thicker layer, starting at the tips of my fingers, spreading up over my hands, wrist, arms, crossing my breasts with its impenetrable second skin. 

I also willed it to cover my clothes in entirety – even my hoodie - and as it did, I felt lifted off the ground ever so slightly as it coated even the soles of my shoes.

Fully protected now, I carefully turned the doorknob and, willing the Dark Thing to cover my face and hair in entirety, I opened the basement door.

The basement stairwell light was on. 

Shit. 

There was no way I was going to be able to descend those stairs without a risk of whoever was down there seeing me.

The framed cross-stitched Home Sweet Home picture hanging over the stairs drew my attention. 

I saw my reflection in the glass of the hanging craft and was, for a moment, taken aback. 

The Dark Thing was covering my entire face this time.

It looked so strange to me – seeing myself there, my face darkened by its organic second skin. There was a slightly reptilian pattern of scales in the skin of my lips, cheeks, nose and forehead. I looked a bit like the gargoyle I had seen in a brochure my mother had brought back from Paris. I decided to exaggerate that a bit, and willed the Dark Thing to make the cheekbones more dramatic, the jaw more masculine.

There.

Perfect.

My eyes were completely black, with no white sclera, no colored iris – just pure black lenses that gleamed in the dim light. My hair, too, was covered in the Dark Thing, clumped in black clumps that looked much like dreadlocks. I supposed it a more efficient barrier of protection than covering every single hair individually.

I looked like an alien of some kind.

No longer myself. 

Medusa on her worst day, only there were no snake-heads at the tips of my hair.

A creature of darkness. 

Something from a horror movie.

I was certain of one thing: it was the perfect guise for scaring the shit out of any foe I would come across. 

The music stopped downstairs and then started again, the same exact song pulling me out of my reverie.

Whoever was downstairs really liked Trent Reznor.

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