Beauty is as essential as breath to me. Art is my bread and meat. I sought a painting of a beautiful young girl in an oval frame titled Death in Life. A feat of artistry so a realistic that legend held it had drained the vitality from the subject herself.
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Flashes of memory assaulted me—wandering alone in a blizzard, standing on the edge of an icy sea, the word “DEAD” flashing in the air. And always, waking up in the same place.
Everywhere I looked, prismatic light reflected off a sparkling surface. And the cold crept into my bones.
“What were we looking for again?” Harvey asked.
“I already told you. I can’t remember the title, but I do remember the book had a bright blue cover.” Shelly picked up a book and showed it to him. “Like this one. Actually, that’s exactly the right shade.” She popped open the cover and began skimming the contents.
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