Imaginary-Angel

"Look."                She holds up a window in her hands. I wonder at this for an instant - a window that can be held and moved and shown? Involuntarily I step closer to her, though I can feel the malice radiating from her eyes; sliding over my skin like acid, like fire and ice.                A mirror, I realize; not a window. A reflection. In the mirror is the image of her hands and arms, her beautiful face in shadow. My own reflection, and in the background, a charred and twisted tree superimposed upon a flat, dead grey plain and bruised sky. In the mirror, something is changing. The land changes from grey to soft olive green; the tree