Her father looks at the glass of watered down wine, wondering how to make her understand. He waves a hand over it and narrows his eyes, soon the glass is only half full, wine three shades darker than before, and hovering in the air is a plane of water, flat as a puddle. His eyes brighten and the water falls in a shower of droplets, into the basin of salt on the desk.
Alone in his study, he smiles the ghost of a smile.
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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