The voice…
As always.
Returned.
Discreet. Infiltrated. Very low, almost erased, as if it too, this time, hesitated to speak, as if it too, in this instant, was afraid of its own truth. It no longer held the tone of provocation, nor that of gentleness — only that of those who know. Those who watch… and speak.
— You've won, she murmured.
And I smiled.
A wide smile. Spread across my whole mouth. A grimace that had nothing joyful but everything visceral. A taut smile, too taut, like a rope snapping without sound. A twisted smile, split by tension, by excess, by victory. I felt it distort my face, like the grimace of a child who no longer knows whether it's joy or pain.
Then I screamed.
Not a cry of rage. Not a call.
A pure scream.
