Reya looks out the window of the bus, the glint of sunlight falling across her oval face makes her olive skin shimmer.
What do we make of the mysterious thread that connects these stories not by genre, but by an imagination so wondrous they leave room for an underlying horror, and the many things that can mean?
Reya looks out the window of the bus, the glint of sunlight falling across her oval face makes her olive skin shimmer.
What do we make of the mysterious thread that connects these stories not by genre, but by an imagination so wondrous they leave room for an underlying horror, and the many things that can mean?