To Be Rather Than To Seem.

At The Center, Where A Cuckoo Bird Would Live In A More Traditional Timepiece, Is The Juggler. Dressed In Harlequin Style With A Grey Mask, He Juggles Shiny Silver Balls That Correspond To Each Hour. As The Clock Chimes, Another Ball Joins The Rest Until At Midnight He Juggles Twelve Balls In A Complex Pattern. After Midnight The Clock Begins Once More To Fold In Upon Itself. The Face Lightens And The Clouds Return. The Number Of Juggled Balls Decreases Until The Juggler Himself Vanishes. By Noon It Is A Clock Again, And No Longer A Dream.

Kelly Link Is Inimitable. Her Stories Are Like Nothing Else, Dark Yet Sparkling With Her Unique Brand Of Fairy Dust. This Is The Most Marvelous Kind Of Trouble To Get In.

Chandresh Relishes Reactions. Genuine Reactions, Not Mere Polite Applause. He Often Values The Reactions Over The Show Itself. A Show Without An Audience Is Nothing, After All. In The Response Of The Audience, That Is Where The Power Of Performance Lives.

So Proper For A Circus Girl," Mme. Padva Says With With A Gleam In Her Eye. "we Shall Have To Loosen Those Corset Laces If We Intend To Keep You An Intimate Dinner Company." "i Expected The Corset Unlacing Would Take Place After Dinner," Celia Says Mildly, Earning A Chorus Of Laughter. "we Shall Keep Miss Bowen As Intimate Company Regardless Of The State Of Her Corset," Chandresh Says. "make A Note Of That," He Adds, Waving A Hand At Marco. "miss Bowen's Corset Is Duly Noted, Sir," Marco Replies, And The Laghter Bubbles Over The Table Again.

Memories Begin To Creep Forward From Hidden Corners Of Your Mind. Passing Disappointments. Lost Chances And Lost Causes. Heartbreaks And Pain And Desolate, Horrible Loneliness. Sorrows You Thought Long Forgotten Mingle With Still-fresh Wounds.