“Has it ever occurred to you,” she inquired sweetly, “that just because you don’t have the vaguest idea of who I am, you might not know me at all?”

Bizwat stared at her dumbly. He was struck by her simple beauty. She had materialized in his closet moments before, just as he was hanging up his cat and doves. He had never before had a woman in his room, let alone his closet. He didn’t know what to do or say.

Sensing this, she put a slender finger to his lips. “Shh,” she said. “Don’t ruin this by speaking. We’ll let silence be our symphony.”

Dazed, Bizwat followed her into the bathroom, where he watched her shrug out of her plain gorkwoot and begin brushing her thick auburn hair. He turned and looked into the adjoining room at his bed. He expected to see himself upon it, asleep. He wasn’t. With a growing sense of disquiet, he turned and looked at the mirror. He could see her reflection, intent upon her task, but his was missing. Bizwat looked down at himself. He seemed to be gone. Then, with a small cry, he was.