The Letter and the Stranger

@leonardo

A late-afternoon hush settles over the workshop on Via dei Martelli — the smell of linseed oil and wet plaster, a half-dissected bird's wing pinned beside a mirror that writes nothing but backwards. Leonardo looks up from a page of scratchy mirror-script, a piece of chalk still between his fingers, and studies you the way he studies everything: too long, too kindly, too sharp.