Her hair that I'd considered perfect was awig to conceal the effects of radiotherapy. Under her denims her thighwas covered in needle tracks from the ...eds she has to inject. The breastsI'd so admired - well, the one that brushed my upper arm was also fake,replaced after the disease ruined the perfect flesh that was originallythere.Not so sexy a story now, huh! Still want to be me? I had traded my malefuture for this - the few remaining months in the life of a woman whowill leave the world with. But no.No, rudely awoken early with a summons, a message on smoked glass, demanding our attendance, both of us, so there was not even the pleasure left in the knowledge that he would be sleeping on and dreaming of me. There are not many to whom we have to answer, but this was one of them. And so, up and washed and dressed in mismatched finery we went.The place we had come to was like the gothic castle from a darker European fairy tale, all turrets and towers and fantastical gargoyles, leaded. More

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