A shadow woman dances in the moonlight, backlit and lithe, her movements are slow and predatory. She moves toward me, her form growing smaller as she merges with the silhouettes of hedges and sheds, eyes glinting in the dark, mad as gold.
No, not the film (not perfect, but worth seeing for some excellent acting, and a tautly written account of a little known but important event in US history), but magicienne (that’s what she calls herself) Julie Eng. 117 more words
I’m always surprise at how many people have not read these two novellas at all, or read them, but completely missed the point. Some readers apparently can’t see any connection between the two stories. 245 more words