An old blind writer sits in a circle of light in a dark library asking why he doesn't just sit in the dark, why a raven is like a writing desk and what is the nature of labyrinths. He hears footsteps and smells perfume. The intruder is a beautiful woman who may or may not be a character in a story he is writing. She brings a knife from the labyrinth of mirrors. Someone is going to die in this unusual play about art, time and the relationship between fiction and flesh.
Published in The Great Gromboolian Plain & Other Plays.