By Deborah Lawrenson
The words are like flowers, as is perhaps appropriate in a story where
fragrance and its composition is nearly a character in and of itself. But
there are moments of casual cruelty hidden within the flowery language. There
is darkness, mystery and and the whispering of the ghosts of lifetimes lived and left.
He called her Eve. They met in the depths of a labyrinth and that too, was appropriate,
given that that their life together was wound between secrets she dared not explore. She
was happy enough, more than happy, in fact. At least in the beginning. Before the darkness
that secrets exude began to swirl around them. She was happy before the doubts began to creep in,
before the bones were uncovered in the garden.
This story is a journey that begins in the distant past, and ends with a promise for the future. IT
is a journey that I recommend that you take, if you like mystery touched with romance and dusted with
petals of flowers long since gone.