We live many lives throughout our lifetime, smaller lives with people who come and go, friends who disappear, children who grow up, and I can never really understand which part of my life makes up the actual frame.

A woman is bedridden with fever when people from a time gone by appear before her:

one renowned who wrote a letter, a friend who disappeared, a love without a future.

Staklutirnir is a novel with four character portrayals and a thousand details—about worn pocket books, psychedelic dancing, and nervous trembling.

What is the perfect millennial dress? Can a person that is loved really just disappear? And who is it that is being portrayed, the person in the image or the one holding the paintbrush?