I wait for the night, when the light dims the hall to a puzzle of shadows and angles appear. Sometimes I feel the soft threads of a waltz caressing my ears and i dance with slow grace. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the soft flowing movement bound within its gold scrolls of frame.

There is a bevelled edge on the mirror, an interim place where nothing is as it should be. It's a walkway of a different world, a sliver of wild side, a taste of refreshingly icy sugared and lemoned white tea.