“Rosalind’s head swung like a weathervane in a windstorm, searching for that voice. And then she saw him. Or…it? Gooseflesh rose on her arms. At the top of a ladder pushed against the wall near that enormous marionette was a…man. But at first glance he seemed indistinguishable from the puppet. His hands glance he seemed indistinguishable from the puppet. His hands were so gnarled and brown they appeared carved of wood, his cheeks glowingly ruddy and as hard and round as if he were using them to ...store nuts; in contrast, gravity softened and drew his jaw ever downward. Now, as she took him in, the laps on either side of his face made him look like the marionette’s cousin. His eyes were large, a peculiar crystalline shade of blue, and pouched in folds of skin. He was smiling, a weary sort of smile. The sort a marionette couldn’t accomplish on its own. He wasn’t made of wood, after all. She realized her hand had flown up to cover her overtaxed heart. She lowered it abruptly, embarrassed and more than a little irritated.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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