Postlude: A Terminus
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She looked at herself in the mirror and inspected her uniform for the day. Gray cloche hat, unadorned; gray dress suit, well-tailored; white shirt, pressed and starched; black scarf, tight as a garotte. She loosened the knot slightly and idly thought, "It's always black. Never green or navy blue or red. Hmm."

She paused, concentrated briefly and the scarf turned royal purple with gold thread subtly hinting at strange and hidden patterns. "That's better. Off to work I go."

She straightened her skirt one last time, smirked, and sketched a curtsy to the empty room. Nobody stepped through the doorway, and nobody was left behind.

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us
Don't tell—they'd banish us, you know.

-I'm Nobody! Who are you?, by Emily Dickinson, 1891

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