It happened all the time.  She turned and the sunlight moved with her, shifting and slicing until it captured every narrow perfection of her face.  I'd grown used to it, in a way; I knew exactly when to remind my lungs to breathe in again, when to twist my lips into a dismissive smile, when to turn my eyes away without drawing any suspicion.  It didn't matter - the image of her had been burned into my eyes like a brand, every blink and I saw her again.  The ghostly outline of her features haunted my every sight, as if I'd been staring too long at the sun.

In a way, I had been.

The End

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