Galatea
You come around a corner, away from the noise of the opening. There is only one exhibit. She stands in the spotlight, with her back to you: a sweep of pale hair on paler skin, a column of emerald silk that ends in a pool at her feet. She might be the model in a perfume ad; the trophy wife at a formal gathering; one of the guests at this very opening, standing on an empty pedestal in some ironic act of artistic deconstruction -- You hesitate, about to turn away. Her hand balls into a fist. "They told me you were coming." Galatea Copyright (c) 2000 by Emily Short. (First-time users should type 'help'.) Release 1 / Serial number 000324 / Inform v6.15 Library 6/7 The Gallery's End Unlit, except for the single spotlight; unfurnished, except for the defining swath of black velvet. And a placard on a little stand. *** MORE ***
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