As her eyes adjusted she realized it wasn’t an animal but a woman. Her long hair was fanning out around her head, her arms extended as they reached for someone, or something. Her dress appeared torn, though that might be imperfections in the wood grain. Vines encircled her bare feet. The entire image wasn’t more than twelve inches long and half again as high. It looks like me, she thought. A ridiculous idea—her hair was short, for one—yet in the same way the door knocker held a passing resemblance to Stevie, this seemed to reflect something of her posture, her hair, even her face.
