Magical Bears in the Context of Contemporary Political Theory, Page 3

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  There’s a mansion at the edge of Shadow City. It’s a cold white marble, edged in black. In the mornings, the sun casts pale light over its garden and in through its windows. At night, its lights don’t come on. The girl who lives there sits in a chair and looks at the wall, in moonlight or in darkness, and lets her hair grow long.

  She hears a bell ring. She rises from her chair. She walks, tall, graceful, and lithe, to the door; and out; and down the garden path to the great black gates.

  A man’s standing there. He’s fading away to nothing. He’s drowning in shadows. His face is blurry. “Help me,” he says.

  “I don’t have anything for you,” she says.

  “Color,” he says. “I need color.”

  Her hand comes up to her face. It traces the cold black edge of her chin. It runs across the bleak white of her cheek. It passes across her eyes, two wells of darkness in a perfect face. “I don’t have any,” she says. “I never did.”

  She turns and walks away.

  “I believe in your rainbow!” he cries.

  She walks back to her chair. She sits down. She waits. The man dissolves to night.