Rebecca Sexton Larson assembles darkly-romantic fantasy landscapes which echo familiar idioms, metaphors, and colloquialisms, teasing out levels of meaning that surprise, delight, and often provoke a chill.   Her technical mastery of light and her seamless compositions make her narratives ring true though they are very clearly quite impossible.  Hers are images of loneliness and isolation.  An empty apartment slowly floods with countless grey sunflowers.  A couple of cardboard clouds hang in a deserted theatre.  Her voice is quiet but compelling.  Her touch is deft but distant.  Her stories promise the moon.