Prologue: London
The picture in front of me is like a magnet, drawing me closerand closer, till my shoulder is nearly brushing against its an-tique gold carved frame. It’s like looking in a mirror, and it’sholding me spellbound. I can’t look away from what’s almostmy own reflection.Eyes, dark, with a slant up at the outer corners that mymother calls almond-shaped. Hair as dark as my eyes, wavytoday, frizzy and wild when it’s damp. Skin that’s sallow inwinter, needing sunshine to warm it up, turn it pale gold. Ashort, curvy figure and a small waist, made even smaller inmirror image by a corset much lower-cut than I would everwear; I’m spilling out over the top.In this enchanted mirror, I look truly lovely. My hair