Chapter Eight
Aggie
“Not all mirrors show the same thing.”—The Librarian
Aggie stared at her reflection in a pool. She rarely saw her face; she had been warned against it.
“Never look in a pool of water,” said Wife-ie. “It’s impossible to see yourself the same again.”
Aggie looked at her slim features, her smooth skin—nothing like Arthur of the North’s wrinkles she had stared at in bed an hour ago.
She sighed . . .
Wrinkles after great s*x were lines that hypnotized, that were traced with a lover’s finger and kissed. She had kissed every wrinkle on Arthur of the North’s forehead, neck, and lower bits, and her body was singing with the pleasure of it . . .
She had never kissed before, let alone anything else. She wondered if this was what they did at the nurturing shed, just as she
