I was drifting off to sleep, pleasantly warm again, and thinking of Nina and the strange two days in which I had known her, when the owl swooped down and ate my face.
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| I woke in the night, wracked with shivers that felt like screams. It was early, and cold. The porch was poorly insulated and unfriendly. A stuffed owl in the miniature garret stared down at me disapprovingly as I snatched a blanket-shaped object from the top of the neat laundry pile and threw it around my shoulders, theatrically. The stuffed owl was grey, and as close to gaunt as an owl could be. I had no idea what to think of it, and a similar number of ideas as to where someone (even someone so rotten with artisticness as Nina) could find such a peculiar thing.
I was drifting off to sleep, pleasantly warm again, and thinking of Nina and the strange two days in which I had known her, when the owl swooped down and ate my face. |
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