by Kelly Matsuura
When Wizard Qarmel took to his death bed, I didn’t want him to die alone.
“What’s Margaret’s address? I’ll send a letter,” I offered. The wizard’s wife had left years earlier, but no one knew her current whereabouts.
“No need.” Qarmel smiled. “She’s with me, always.”
“She’s gone. Remember?”
“Margaret is here,” he insisted.
He opened his robe. In place of skin, his entire chest had become a window of frosted glass. Light from nearby candles danced on the surface.
As did Margaret’s face.
Her ghostly image rippled and weaved; a prisoner forever trapped under ice.
“See? She never left.”