Chapter 8
Elenda's bathroom mirror was as familiar and ordinary to her as her own hands. She'd stood on that cool white tile, mouth fresh from brushing her teeth or skin damp from taking a shower, seeing herself in the rectangular reflection on the back of the door as long as she could remember.
Her perspective had changed, certainly, from a toddler who had to reach up to hold the counter, to an awkward, skinny teenager who despaired of ever having curving hips or breasts like her mother, to the not as curvy as she'd hoped woman who nevertheless didn't usually mind catching a glimpse of herself in photos or reflection.
Yet today the view was as strange as anything she'd seen in the diamond-shaped version in the elevator.
Bruises decorated her flesh like algae blooming on a stagnant pon
