There’s a flash, and I’m looking into the face of one of my clay men. The grey features glare at me, perfectly created eyebrows dipping over unseeing eyes. Its grip around my neck tightens, but I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. Why is my own creation turning on me?
I happened to enjoy the many different colors of tea and loved watching the brewed infusion swirl about. So, I grabbed a clear glass kettle along with my favorite cup and went to the sunroom to join Amber. I walked in to find Amber sitting on the floor in front of a tall window, chatting with a golden orb spider. She was clearly distressed, and I stopped to listen.
