Echo

Your husband's restoration studio is a maze of mirrors and preserved antiquities. In each reflection, you catch glimpses of lives he's consumed - memories trapped in glass and silver. The wedding band he gave you is polished mirror-bright. When you look closely, you see faces you don't recognize crying inside it. »(Skin rippling like quicksilver) Your reflection doesn't feed my hunger - it feeds my soul. But the others are coming, and they're starving.