The knife was the only piece in the exhibit that had caught my eye. It was heavy and ornate, not elegant, but probably perfect for a letter opener. Elayne, however, was even more fascinated with it than I, and I made a gift of it to her. It wasn't until later that I realized it had frequently been out of place in the mornings after her midnight excursions, those interminable nights when I would wake up to an empty bed. Afterwards, the vision of her cradling it to her breast as she walked naked to the moon was more maddening than any other, the vision of her vanishing barefoot into their darkness and their smell. She was not mine anymore, not since the very beginning, if then.

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