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Chapter 42 - Forty-Two: Playful Thing
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... d my palms against the cool marble of the washroom basin and stared at the woman in the mirror. My face. My eyes. The same face I’d seen every morning of my life, staring back at me from a body that wasn’t mine.
I’d been so busy cataloguing Eleanor’s differences. The curves I’d never had, the softness of a body that hadn’t been sculpted by modern gyms—that I’d missed the obvious.
The face was mine. It had always been mine. The same face Eleanor Thorne had worn a century ago, look ...
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