*editor’s note: Please be advised that this story contains blood play. We realize this is a hard limit for some people and wanted to advise  our readers accordingly.

“Reflections Left Behind”
by Natasha Leullier

Sandy’s puckered moon face and firefly eyes reflected in her great-grandmother’s mirror. Her hair and dress were crisp with dried seawater, and orange oak leaves plastered her Mackintosh coat. She held the telescope against her chest and smiled at the framed photo of William sitting behind her on the writing desk. She would keep watch for the missing whalers now that the craven lighthouse keeper had fled along with every other villager. Through the miracle of the looking glass, they were side by side again, she in bedraggled attire and William with his waxed mustache and special occasion stovepipe hat. The flame above Sandy’s one candle danced, begging for its life, and expired. The world became silver; the Nor’easter offering its own sickly light. But it was the tide smashing against the shingles that made Sandy shiver and a great fist upon the cottage that made her shake.

If the storm was intent on claiming her, she might as well return to the docks and lead the confrontation. Her heart pounded throughout her body, throbbing against her temples, fingertips, and even the intimate nook between her legs. How she could think of such things in the storm… And yet, the fear, her bewildered courage, made her long for William’s touch.

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