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Sylvia Morton, a graphic artist at an LA design firm, develops mild depression and starts working from home. Her son Richard is away at school and her husband, Miles Harrison, an architect, is becoming distant. Fogged in by a pervasive ennui, she drifts through her life as if she were not part of it. Suffering from the dissociation that comes with depression, she starts to withdraw. A pile of cast off clothing gathers in the corner of her bedroom as if she’s preparing for a trip, except she doesn’t travel for business now. An unsettling feeling remains: that she doesn’t deserve her “wonderful life,” and duly noted— it’s not that wonderful. Despite all the trappings of success—expensive cars, beautiful home, gated community, meaningful careers—the couple drifts further apart.Looking forward to reuniting with Nanz, an old friend from high school who has come to Burbank to work in the motion picture industry, Sylvia plans a weekend away at Spa Ojai. They’re looking forward to catching up on the past, but, while driving in an unseasonal August drizzle, a horrifying accident occurs. Sylvia’s tether to reality completely frays as she descends into an intensely morbid guilt about the accident. The deal she makes is not with the devil—it’s only in her mind—that if she just doesn’t have to remember the accident and re-experience the mayhem, she will renounce everything. Devolving into a psychotic fugue before she morphs into her first of many identities, Sylvia makes one last call to Miles to tell him goodbye, and that he’ll never find her body. “I’m dead.” Thus begins the transient global amnesia that will drive an odyssey of renunciation for a sin that was never committed. It was just an accident. Soon she will experience having her mind wiped as clean as a blackboard is of chalk; and her heart—of most emotions. Sylvia resurfaces as Vermil
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