The Life She Stole

My name is Chloe Sinclair.

The year I turned twenty, I died.

They held a funeral for me, erected a gravestone, and completely erased me from this world. Meanwhile, dressed in mourning attire, I stood before my own grave, listening as my father, Arthur Sinclair, and my mother, Evelyn Sinclair, said they had "nothing to say."

Later, I lived again.

Rising from the ashes of another corpse, shining in the ripples of the Seine, and in the fleeting instant a paintbrush pressed against the thin calluses on my palm once more.