by X. Luma
It was well past midnight when Elise laid her hammer and chisel aside. All the town was in slumber but she, a young sculptress in her studio, awake with discontent before a bust.
“How lifeless,” she said to her sparrow. “Like everything I make.”
The sparrow chirped with its own dismay at the hailstorm raging outdoors. Elise blew the bird a kiss, covered its cage with her cardigan, and then fed the fireplace. Seated before it, she was beginning to drowse when came a knock at the door.