The apartment is suffocatingly quiet after Ronan leaves for the bedroom.
I stay on the balcony for a long time, watching the city below wake up. Cars move like tiny beetles along the gray ribbons of asphalt. People in coats hurry down the sidewalks, holding coffee cups, heads bowed against the morning chill. The world is spinning on, loudly and purposefully, entirely unaware of the suspended reality inside this apartment.
Seraphina.
I say it again to the empty air. It gives me a boundary. An outline. But an outline isn't enough. I need the colors. I need the substance. Who was Seraphina? What did she do? Did she like her coffee black or with sugar? Why did Ronan have blood on his sleeve? Why does looking at me break him into pieces?
And why does the sunlight pass through my skin?
I st
