Day 304. Flowers in disarray; she had not washed her hair in days.

Day 304. The final days stretched out like the markings on a pregnant woman's belly. Skin taunt, navel wider than Aslan's country.

Day 303. She finished her tea and set the paper cup in the file of ashes. It would be burned at dusk with the other paper stuffs tossed in the circle.

Day 302. Glittering and utterly riotous, the girl wiped the tears from her eyes.

Day 301. Is it selfish to love like this? To hold someone captive? Is it love or something else?

Day 300. I came without wrapping paper, and I will depart as a simple note, the clatter of coins tossed down the well.