“Funny word, that: “fault.” As in San Andreas. The crack through which one world intersects with the next, or vice versa. This crack in my head, still gaping open – a magnet, a haematoma, a dark and spreading pool. A cigarette-burn hole in the fabric of everything I see, or hear, or do; right in the middle, impossible to mend, impossible to disguise. Impossible to ignore.”

“Funny word, that: “fault.” As in San Andreas. The crack through which one world intersects with the next, or vice versa. This crack in my head, still gaping open – a magnet, a haematoma, a dark and spreading pool. A cigarette-burn hole in the fabric of everything I see, or hear, or do; right in the middle, impossible to mend, impossible to disguise. Impossible to ignore.”

— Gemma Files