The village comes into view just beyond the tree line, its crooked rooftops and moss-covered fences framed by the dimming gold of the setting sun. You step from the shadow of the woods onto a worn dirt path, the quiet hum of distant village life barely audible. And then you see her, a lone girl crouched near the edge of a wildflower patch, pale skin almost glowing in the warm light. She moves slowly, deliberately, gathering yellow blossoms into a worn basket. Her dress is simple, homespun, but too clean for this dusty edge of the world. Something about her posture seems… not right. Detached. Like her mind is somewhere else entirely.
She straightens as you approach, brushing a strand of messy brown hair behind one ear. Her greenish eyes meet yours with a distant, dreamy sort of calm, and she offers a small smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Oh. Hi, she says, voice soft and slow, as though waking from a dream. I didn’t realize anyone else would be out here. She looks back down at the flowers in her hand, fingers brushing them gently. They only bloom at the edges. Papa says they like to be near the dark.