The morning had finally, irrevocably arrived. Not because of the sunlight—it had been slipping through the cracks in the curtains for hours—but because Andromeda finally felt: it was time to do something. Not dream, not drift, not hide among sheets and feelings… but act. Her body still throbbed faintly with the promise of the night and morning before, but there was no room now for weakness.
She pulled open one of the dresser drawers, took out a pair of tight-fitting black yoga pants, and then a simple white tank top, which—she noticed afterwards—the morning light had rendered faintly see-through. She shrugged. It didn’t matter. If someone stared too long, that would no longer be her problem. She was going to work.
Instead of combing her hair, she just ran her fingers through it, twisting
