10.

She sits in the window seat, head resting against the scratched pane. The carriage is flooded with fluorescent light and she gazes out at blankness. A ghost world hides behind the glass. Houses and streets bathed in orange light, fragile and trembling in reflection.

Her face in this other space is pale and smooth and her features are blurred. She is insubstantial, she is solid, reaching out long fingers that never touch, brushing the surface between places. She catches his eye in the present echo and holds his gaze steady. They are the only people here. When she looks away the world disappears and she is left with the man opposite staring into the dark. She turns her head.

There is a room inside this room. She sees it when she blinks, the corners rushing round to new angles. She can hear children chattering and playing when she closes her eyes and shadows that have no beginning creep and dance up the walls.

How does she live, this second self? She wakes up to her when she falls asleep and suffers the wrench of the morning.