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November 23, 2010
The woman woke from the bed like a sea witch rising from the waters. The dark blue sheets tumbled from her as if whole oceans had clung to her shoulders. She moves jerkily, clumsily, nearly helpless against the new oppressive weight of gravity and air.

She sold the mermaid's voice long ago to a gypsy for a bottle of rum, and when that went empty, she sold her own. Bleary eyed and still half drunk, she stumbles to the bathroom and forgets she was once the witch of the sea. 

Poor unfortunate souls.

Poor unfortunate souls.

Poor unfortunate soul.