Bone TarotThe old woman sits hunched over, a motley bundle of woven cloths, feathers and charms, swaying back and forth fitfully to her moaning, unearthly chant. Her eyes roll back in a trance, eyes with whites the colour of the bones she is rattling in her gnarled hands.Bone Tarot
Christine glares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The harsh fluorescent lighting, reflected infinitely on the arctic white tiles, picks out the premature crow’s feet around her nicotine-stained eyes and pursed lips. She strains to pluck out the last stray hair from already pencil-thin brows, her third cup of caffeine-fix balanced precariously on the edge of
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