It's not like they hang around often. I hardly ever see them when I expect to.
I cried the other day. No reason. Not that I was aware of. Just an achy, broken-hearted kind of cry, except I wasn't heart-broken. But I was achy. Very achy. From my fingers to my chest to my head.
They were there. I know they were. Watching me from the mirrors, the dark corners of the bedroom where my weak nightlight couldn't reach. They probably thought it was funny to see me writhe and sob in midst of my paranoia. Or maybe it was just in their nature to want to be in places of comfort. Mirrors. Dark corners. Under the bed. The Boogieman. The Slenderman. The Silence. The Angels. All encompassed into two beings.
The Woman in White is not who she started out to be.
The Woman in Black is worse than who she started out to be.
But I am no longer afraid of them.
I am afraid of me.
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