Where the Dark Stands Still

by A.B. Poranek

She wonders if a sculptor feels this way when he chisels stone into statue, knowing it can never return to its previous form.

“But—but what do I do now?” “What you always do, Liska. You keep going.”

(Of women, he’s heard it said: “She will be the end of me,” or “She will be my undoing.” None of that is true for Liska Radost. She is not the end of anything, but the beginning of everything. He has been dead a long time, and she is his resurrection.)