On the wall opposite the bookshelves there was a mirror. A broad mirror with an ornate white frame.
She no longer got surprised by the variations in appearance between lives. She had been every shape and size and had every haircut.
In this life, she looked perfectly pleasant. She would have liked to be friends with this person.
It wasn’t an Olympian or a rock star or a Cirque du Soleil acrobat she was looking at,
but it was someone who seemed to be having a good life, as far as you could tell these things.
A grown-up who had a vague idea of who she was and what she was doing in life. Short hair, but not dramatically so,
skin looking healthier than in her root life, either through diet, a lack of red wine, exercise, or the cleansers and moisturisers
she’d seen in the bathroom, which were all more expensive than anything she owned in her root life.
“Well,” she said to Plato. “This is a nice life, yeah?” Plato seemed to agree.
A Spiritual Quest for a Deeper Connection with the Universe
She found the medicine drawer in the kitchen and rummaged through the plasters and ibuprofen
and Calpol and multivitamins and runners’ knee bandages but couldn’t find any sign of any anti-depressants.
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