The words pierced her skin
Daggers to curse her will.
Every so often, in a fit of spark, words tumbled from every notion creeping ’round the marrow, no counting allowed.
The lady lay down the bills, one, two, three, four with one extra, hungrily held, crisply unfolded, $100 it read. She reluctantly handed it over. All others revealed, she found $1, no more, went back to find them, blown away, disappeared and gone.
She had written, had she not? She lay there staring towards the heavens, moaning as moans sound, with little remaining to cost her soul.