Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb. You are afraid of the warmth in your blood. And she would have to go tomorrow. But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis.
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