The thought that flashes through her mind makes no sense—would make her seem like an utter fool. But hidden in the shadows and the guise of night, with only the moon as her sole audience, Winter is willing to play the part of the fool. A hair's breadth away, Winter pauses, heart fluttering in her chest. Her eyes slide shut, and before she can turn back, she leans forward, and presses her lips against stone.   And so the sculptor falls in love with the sculpture.