update from sparkleup

writing/fanfic/southern-reach.html

@@ -81,7 +81,7 @@
 <p>And her cheek was as cool as her own felt, and those tiny hairs that lent to the softness of her skin were beyond familiar: known in a way that proved the relationship beyond a doubt.</p>
 <p>And while the dreamy confusion was mirrored on her face, there was also curiosity, also a detached fondness, an understanding, however inexact, of oneself. And these, too, were inexact, for she did not understand, did not feel fond. Did not feel anything.</p>
 <p>And she had stopped thinking of this Doppelgänger as something other than herself. She was not it. She was she. She was she.</p>
-<p>Her hands were her own. She had a hand in their making. Her hand was forced hand in hand with blood on her hands washing her hands of the matter. After all, was a bird in the hand not worth two in the clearing, their beside the stairs where, written on the wall, were the words, &ldquo;Were lies the strangling fruit that came from the hand of the sinner&rdquo;?</p>
+<p>And her hands were her own. She had a hand in their making. Her hand was forced hand in hand with blood on her hands washing her hands of the matter. After all, was a bird in the hand not worth two in the clearing, their beside the stairs where, written on the wall, were the words, &ldquo;Were lies the strangling fruit that came from the hand of the sinner&rdquo;?</p>
 <p>And there she was, and if there had been a transition from her being in her tent to her standing in the clearing, to her moving toward where those stairs bored down into the earth, she missed it, just as she had missed that transition between waking and sleeping.</p>
 <p>And yet was she asleep? Was she? She was here, and the air was heavy, and the light had failed, and the quiet was absolute aside from the sounds of the night. No words, no words.</p>
 <p>And there she was in front of her. There was her. There was <em>her</em>. There was her mirror image, her perfectly imperfect self.</p>