by Allegra Hyde

“One late afternoon of early winter in the hour when the skies and streets of Paris take on the color of turtledoves, I stumbled into a dead end that angled curiously backwards like a broken finger, and found myself gazing into the window of a shop unike any other I had ever seen, for it contained a dazzling assortment of anamorphoses, some several hundred years old.”

-Rikki Ducornet