|work| | Charlotte Sartre Assylum

Lena closed her eyes. Behind her lids, she saw the well again. The crumbling stone. The impossible depth. And the face, smooth and waiting.

She read on, faster now.

On the inside of her left thigh, faded but still legible, was the faint adhesive residue of a small rectangle—exactly the size of a micro-recorder. charlotte sartre assylum