And there, in the bed, a body. A person.
Rodin stared at the stranger who was his former self.
That night, Rodin used the room at the top of the house.
He lay with his eyes open for some time, knowing sleep would be a long time coming, knowing his mind would not rest until it had some kind of resolution.
This was his old room. This was where they had brought Brodie, and where Rodin had been born.
His mind repeated that idea, as if it would become more solid the longer he focused on it, as if the image of the room in his mind would become the reality.
Was this what a childhood room felt like?
Was this what a childhood room felt like?When Rodin closed his eyes, more images rose. He saw Paskia, not a fragile artist’s model, but a younger woman, full of life. Her mouth curved into a smi
