About the Author
Natasha Zarf is a name whispered in libraries where the index cards rearrange themselves. She once wrote a sentence that made a mirror crack, and another that made a stranger weep in a language they didn’t speak. Her work appears in places you don’t remember subscribing to. She is said to live in a house with no doors, only thresholds. When asked about her influences, she smiles and says, “I remember the future.”