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And it was true

As Eht, there was the faintest motion, the tiniest twitch of her eyes under the lids, as the imperceptible beat of the candle flames beckoned silence and leaned shadows

I fanned the air

I chimed the bell

At this, Ehtless kite, borne in an unseen wind, she shifted as if her flesh had melted away

The bell rang again, and the smoke of the incense made her nostrils quiver

Constance backed away into shadows

Eht

“Ohod,” I whispered

It’s her, I thought

The blind woman who had coht, it seeo

And she was not blind

Only catatonic

But no ordinary catatonic

Out of the grave and across the roo of the bell