Sable had hoped to avoid the intersection of Fleetwood Avenue and Sailor Street on her way to see the gypsy woman. And much longer before that, she had hoped to avoid ever donning her sister’s stiff, powder-blue gown, the one that prickled her skin like quills and was too tight around her wrists; but the gypsy, her fathomless silver eyes shadowed with warning, had told Sable to look her nicest for their appointment. Now the young girl stood on the steamy street corner in the dead of night, bearing resemblance to a wilted bluebell with her stringy, bedraggled hair and sinewy limbs.

The black cobblestones, slick with rainwater, glistened in the dusky shine of the gaslights. The distant clopping of a horse’s hooves peppered the bloodless silence.

Horse hooves. Sable shivered, hoping the last traces of the memory of the accident would melt away from her mind. But she was standing in the forbidden intersection, and there it was again in a ghostly, fleeting image: the horses looming over her, poised to crush her under their stone-hard hooves, rain and lightning blasting across the sky as the world lurched and came crashing down upon her—

The scene dissolved. Sable shook herself and blinked straight ahead.

She felt a sharp plucking in her gut, as if someone had pierced a fishing hook through her navel and were slowly leading her across the street. Gathering handfuls of her skirt, she dashed through the pale tendrils of steam and up the porch of a crumbling shack. She rapped the brass knocker against the door.

Dread twisted up inside her. It was a horrible, raw dread that kneaded her insides like dough. The invisible line hooked to her stomach grew taut, and, feeling the weight of the balled-up handkerchief concealed in her sleeve, she tried to reassure herself.

The door creaked open. A cloud of perfumes rolled out onto the porch, and a tall, slender figure stood in the doorway, her arms open wide in greeting. “Ma fille,” she said softly, “welcome to ze home of Madame Oblivia. Please, come inside.” She clamped her bony hands on Sable’s shoulders and steered her into the house. The golden discs sewn onto her elegant dress tinkled with her movements.

The room was divided by a velvety blue curtain. Tall, angelic candles dribbled with white gowns of wax as their halos cast writhing shapes across the peeling wallpaper.

“Come, come, my dear,” Madame Oblivia sang, her sweet voice laced with a French accent. She led Sable to a wooden chair and sat her down. “What is it you seek, child? Have you a future to be illuminated? Or perhaps a vision zat needs interpreting?”

Before Sable could reply, Madame Oblivia’s eyes flew shut and she held her forehead in her hands. “No,” she whispered dreamily, “no, it is something of graver importance...”

“I came to see my sister,” Sable said shyly.

The gypsy’s eyes flicked open. They were the most luminous eyes Sable had ever seen, like huge, sparkling pools of melted galaxies; one could fall into those irises and drown in their sterling depths.

“I suspected as much,” she murmured, smiling. “Now I remember ze day you brought me Penny’s photograph. It proved very useful in locating her among ze other wandering souls.” Madame Oblivia moved breezily around the room, putting out the candles one by one. The darkness swelled around them, oily and bitter, and Sable found herself holding her breath.

“Ze dead are not accustomed to light,” the gypsy said, her voice low. “Zey prefer ze shadows. And though you may speak to her, I must ask zat you do not approach your sister; she will be extremely sensitive to ze touch of a living person.”

Sable nodded solemnly. Her heart throbbed against her ribcage.

“We will begin immediately. Imagine your sister as clearly as you can, and she will appear to you.” Through the haze of shadows, Sable watched Madame Oblivia slip past the curtain. The chiming of her spangles instantly fell silent.

Sable chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. Her mind swam with memories of racing shiny new wind-up mice across the floor at Christmastime, and hauling picnic baskets to the old willow tree that bowed over the pond. These were blurred pictures of their childhood, too far in the past to be perceived with a sharp clarity. The last time she saw her sister, she was not a little girl, but a woman. An image like that would be less misty...

Then it came to her. Despite the darkness of the room, a scalding white image flared up behind her eyes:

Penny’s lace-trimmed gown twinkled with glassy sequins like frost on an ivory rose. Beneath her veil, rings of her honey-gold hair spun around her perfect face and splashed over her shoulders. She was flushed with happiness, and her creamy, doe-like eyes brimmed with passion as she stood beside her beloved at the altar. Their lips brushed together. Sable could still hear the applause that soared up the stained glass windows of the church and shook in the steeple...

There was a swishing sound. The memory splintered, its shards clattering away to the back of her mind. Something was stirring in the blank void. As her eyes stretched wide and strained to drink in the smallest drops of tawny light that bled through the window curtains, she thought she saw a shape, tall and lean, hovering in front of the curtain...

“P-Penny?”

There was no reply. The silhouette swayed through the air; the rustling of a dress filled the silence.

Sable’s breath solidified in her throat and her chest locked up. She didn’t dare to blink or breathe or move, and for a moment it seemed as if the surging of the blood in her veins had frozen as well. Her heart was pummeling the walls of her chest, springing up into her throat, flipping and flailing as it hammered in her ears...

“Penny,” she gasped.

Her sister’s head slowly rocked up and down.

Tears pricked the backs of Sable’s eyes. “Penny, I—I wanted to ask... I needed to know if it was... if it was my fault...”

Now she could make out Penny’s soft brown eyes and flawless features, the gently-curving bridge of her nose and the defined cheekbones she’d always admired and envied. Her sister looked even more unblemished in the lowlight.

“D-do you remember that night?” Sable asked quietly. She squinted up at the floating being, a timid grin flickering across her face. “It was five months ago, right after your wedding... Can you believe that? You’ve been gone for five months.”

Penny continued to gaze at her. Her head tilted slightly to the side.

“It was... it was the end of November. It was storming outside, and I remember you saying you wished it would snow big, puffy flakes like the ones in your snow globe. Jasper got you that globe when he went to France, right? Whenever he left on his trips, you would tip it over and over and watch the sparkles swirl around the Eiffel Tower. You always wanted to go to Paris with him to see the Eiffel Tower, didn’t you?

“Er, anyway, you were looking out the window at the rain and I wanted to admire your globe. I slipped into your room to get it when you weren’t watching. I think I was trying to be extra quiet, but I—I wasn’t sneaking around, honestly. I just—I thought you wouldn’t mind if I shook it once... I was going to put it right back...”

Sable had been looking down at her fidgeting hands, but now she glanced up, searching her sister’s face for any sign of resentment. There was none. Penny would, every so often, lift a hand to scratch at her head or rest her chin in her palm. But she never stopped staring at Sable with those warm eyes.

“Your chair was lopsided. When I stood on it and stretched up to reach the top shelf, it wobbled, and on my tiptoes I could just brush my fingers along the polished dome of the globe. But then the chair flung out from under me—thunder clashed—I panicked, and without thinking I swiped the globe off the shelf and flailed backwards and fell. It spun through the air; lightning flashed through the window, striking off the limpid bubble and each individual fleck of powder that gushed around inside it, and suddenly the globe was dazzlingly, blindingly bright, consumed by a white fire...

“I slammed into the ground on my back, and inches from my face there was a blazing explosion. The globe bloomed, like an ice flower, its white petals unfurling, and water and glitter erupted from it and speckled my face. It was oddly beautiful... I can hardly describe to you how I felt, the mixed wonder and horror of seeing the jagged pieces quivering on the floor, and the Eiffel Tower freed from its dewdrop chamber and laying in a puddle of water.”

Penny put a hand on her hip.

Sable nibbled nervously on a fingernail and continued, “You heard me fall and came rushing into the room. Your eyes darted from the chair laying on its side to me kneeling on the floor and then to the broken globe. Your hand flew to cover your mouth. A fire scorched in your eyes, unlike anything I’d ever seen, and you started shouting, saying you’d never forgive me, saying this was the worst thing I could have ever done to you.”

Penny relaxed, and she dipped her head, as if in remorse. Her hair fell over her face in a flaxen screen.

“I fled from the room, from the house, down the stairs and into... into the street...” Sable’s words caught in her throat. “I didn’t see the stagecoach coming through the lashing rain... Before I knew it, the horses were upon me. They reared up on their hind legs and thrashed the air with their hooves; their eyes shone with ferocity and their teeth were bared as they screamed. A jagged vein of lightning split the sky and outlined the animals in silver threads, freezing their silhouettes in my mind as I braced myself beneath the flailing hooves.

“I felt something crash into my back; I sprawled forward into a puddle and rolled up onto my hands and knees just in time to whip around and see the horses drop forward on top of you. You fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, disappearing in a forest of slender legs. The hooves smashed and the wheels crushed. Streams of blood threaded between the cobblestones.”

Sable brushed away a single tear, then screwed her eyes shut. “They—The doctors... The doctors couldn’t fix you...” Her whole body quaked with suppressed sobs. She looked up at Penny, her lips peeled back in a grimace. “Was it my fault, Penny?” she hissed. “Did you chase after me because you were mad at me? Did I lead you into the path of the stagecoach?”

Penny turned her head away and fixed her gaze on the far wall.

“Please,” Sable cried, “I have to know!”

The levitating girl didn’t respond.

“I-I have something for you,” Sable stammered. “A peace offering.” She unraveled her handkerchief and held it out to Penny. A tiny snow globe lay in the folds of the cloth. Sable gave it a gentle shake, and the flakes swarmed around in a watery vortex.

“Please accept it. Please, Penny...”

Penny craned her neck and appeared to be inspecting the globe. But after a brief moment, she reeled back and shook her head.

“What?” Sable breathed. “But—But I got this just for you! I was hoping you w-wouldn’t be mad at me in the afterlife...”

In the swollen darkness, she saw Penny turn her head to the side, refusing to look at her.

“No!” Sable screamed. She sprang up from the chair. “I-I love you, Penny, and—and I want you to love me back! I didn’t mean to break your globe or l-lead you into the way of the horses. I just—Please, Penny, don’t be mad...” A shrill sob vaulted from her throat.

Penny stared at Sable long and hard. She was steadily rising, her body swinging gently from side to side...

“Don’t leave!” Sable begged. “I won’t let you—!”

Wild with hysteria, she shoved off the floor and launched herself at Penny. Her arms fastened around her sister’s waist. She continued to cling onto her even after she realized they were suspended in the air, dangling and twisting around, and Penny’s arms went limp and her head lolled onto her chest like a rag doll’s.

There was a series of twangs, then Sable and Penny were plunging to the ground. Sable groped for something to catch her fall; the curtain bunched in her hands and she yanked it down. A blade of light surged into the dark room as Sable crashed to the ground beside her sister.

Her ears rang with the deafening shatter of glass. The globe hit the wooden floorboards and split open like an egg, vomiting up the glistening, translucent yolk. Its splintered shards wheeled through the air and grazed her cheeks. A few seconds later, she felt hot ribbons of blood tracing the gashes and dripping down her face. A stinging sensation was ignited.

The room rocked and swayed around her, and she laid there for a long time, dazed and panting; finally, at the sound of Madame Oblivia’s horrified shriek, Sable mustered her strength and scrambled to her feet. She goggled at Penny’s splayed body.

A mass of honey-gold curls lay pooled on the floor by her feet, and thick, black hair now fanned out around her head. A tint of makeup had been added to her cheeks, which, in the darkness, Sable hadn’t realized were actually more sunken and hollow than she remembered. Her skin was incredibly pale, as if she'd been chiseled from bones.

Penny’s eyes weren’t open. Those deep, gorgeous doe’s-irises were very neatly painted onto her eyelids. They were streaked with shades of caramel and chocolate brown, and they even had gold specks in them...

“Not Penny,” Sable heard herself murmuring. She blinked blood out of her eyes and continued to stare. “That’s not Penny...”

The curtains of a window were open on the other side of the room, and with the divider torn down, moonlight bleached the entire floor. The girl’s body was ensnared in silver threads like a spider’s silk; looking up, Sable could see the remains of the wires shining in the light as they hung down from a narrow gap in the ceiling.

She had been carefully preserved, then prepared, then strung up to dance for Sable in the swollen darkness.

On the opposite side of the room, Madame Oblivia sat behind the controls of a massive machine. Now that the thick curtain no longer concealed it, Sable could hear the gears and cogs rattling as they churned and the metallic strain of popping springs. A net of wires was slung between the ceiling and the machine. Its shadow cast an ebony latticework across the floor.

Madame Oblivia thrust one of the levers forward; the machine groaned. A single wire was still attached to the girl’s wrist, and Sable watched in horror as the hand lifted off the floor, hauling the arm, then the entire body, into the air. The girl hung a few feet off the ground, rotating slowly, her head bowed and rolling from side to side on her chest.

“Fille stupide,” Madame Oblivia hissed, “I warned you not to touch her.” She flashed a wolfish smile; her steely eyes settled on Sable like knife blades.

At dawn, the corpse of a young, frail girl in a powder-blue gown hung from her gossamer strings. Before shutting her away in the closet, Madame Oblivia stepped back and considered her work—as any satisfied craftsman would—, thinking that her new puppet looked quite like a wilted bluebell snagged in a spiderweb.