Surrounded by clothes, tangled marionettes, and an array of hats and jewelry, Tristan and Rain sat in the empty back room Rain was temporarily using as a dumping ground for his art supplies. The floor was covered with colorful pieces of fabric he’d hoarded for the fabrication of his future puppets, and against the back wall stood a row of open boxes. Poking out of those boxes were faces, arms, and legs of all shapes and sizes—creatures silently waiting to come alive under his hands.
They’d finished a bottle of wine, and as the moon had come into view, had started on another. Rain had thrown a red scarf over the foot lamp, turning the room into their own little pink universe. In the background, Dave Matthews was singing about apparitions and Rain was a little tipsy, but so happy, he didn’t
