And in that void, a single, fragile power: the choice of what to draw first.
She held the damp cloth, cold in her fist. clean slate by mugwump
She set down the cloth. Picked up the chalk. And in that void, a single, fragile power:
The board turned black. True black. The black of deep water, of obsidian, of a sleep without dreams. She leaned her forehead against its cool, empty surface and breathed. And in that void