1hole: 2poles

It had. It was the bruised purple one.

I reached out. My fingers passed through the surface without resistance, and I felt something I can't name: not cold, not warm, but present , like a hand that had been waiting to hold mine. I pulled back fast. My fingertips were clean, but they smelled of rain on asphalt, of the inside of a seashell, of my grandmother's kitchen before she died. 2poles 1hole

The brochure didn't mention any of that. It had

I blinked. The reflection held.