She stared hard at the table as she tried to recall her attacker, and began describing.
I think, I think her hair was black.
I think, I think her eyes were green.
I think, I think she walked with a sort of limp.
Ma’am. I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re describing yourself.
He walked out of the room, and came back with a handheld mirror.
She studied the reflection she saw through the cracked glass.
He was right. But how?
How could it be her.
How could it be me?