“It’s her. Sort of. It’s a rippling sculpture made of smoke, an eyeless silhouette with a hazy but intact suggestion of wings.”
Imagine you could talk to a dead person—but only once. Would you do it right away, when your grief and memories are fresh, so present they suffocate you? Or would you save that chance like a fine wine, growing dusty in a cellar maybe never to be uncorked? When you finally summoned them, what if their presence didn’t comfort as much as you’d hoped?
Check out my latest story in Beneath Ceaseless Skies! I’m delighted to be back in this terrific publication, edited by the stellar Scott H. Andrews. The story is available as text and audio (read by M.K. Hobson).
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