Two stories
…not sure exactly what, but it’s important that she doesn’t lose count. “A Hundred and Seventy Storms” This is the room where The Snow like a Dancer dies, year by year and piece by piece. When they wheel in the cradle where she rests, she always thinks–for a bare, suspended moment–that it will be all right, that it will all end well–and then nausea tightens around her, and the white and stark walls seem to press down on her, unbearably sharp, a fai…