The Book of Leaves

The room was strange, the woman blue and pale reclining for many centuries as if waiting — waiting for the perfect tale. And of course her cat had to be waiting too. Together they waited until I was born to tell the story untold. In this story the leaves were a thousand years old. They blew around the room in blue and purple shapes playing with her candle, playing with my mind. I was certain I had seen her in many lives, in different rooms… All as strange as this one and the story was just an excuse for our meetings across time.