Chapter Seven
Miss Sunny Sudenskaya
I have become one with the trinkets of Dr. Samuels.
The many apertures forced into my skin, held open by these small rounded shapes, ‘grommets’ he terms them, are part of my anatomy. But for the tension when hanging, I no longer feel their presence. The alloy is quite hypoallergenic... not a rash, not an itch, not a hint of discoloration or trauma to the surrounding skin. I will bear them forever. They are me.
I have the sense that someone has put a lock on the door to my house. It is my house, yet another holds the key, affording himself/herself entry and constantly denying it to me. I have no control. People come in and out at their whim. And to all I must bow. I am governed.
The concentration required to walk, in an odd way each footstep contrive
