A flash of viric brightens the water,

[wintersday]

and as it fades, you see the gleam of golden eyes, a round and laughing face. Is she behind you? Her reflection wavers. When you turn, there’s no one there. But something brushes your hip, like a gust of wind or a caress, and as you look back, you see her leaning with catlike confidence against the railing. She radiates dangerous satisfaction; mischief flickers around the corners of her mouth.

Something has changed, you think. No knowing what, except –

Your pockets are lighter. She took something from you.

A pistol, stained by blood.

A dream. One that hungers.

Only a handful of silver.