Backdated to late April. Takes place after The Gate at Twilight.
Word Count: 684
On Wednesday, Énna came upon the playground at dusk.
Street lamps lit the way, throwing their golden glow onto the street and sidewalk. The light didn’t reach parts of the playground, which were left in shadow. Any children that might have spent their evening there had already gone home for the night, tugged away by their parents or called in for dinner.
Énna paused at the gate, looked across the enclosure to the path behind the swings–
And stopped, his gaze catching on a figure that sat upon a swing, drifting slowly back and forth.
She was thin and pale, with fair curls that tumbled past her shoulders. She wore a white corset overlaid with black lace, ending in a red skirt and train. Something like a collar draped down her shoulders — sleeves, maybe, short above her long black gloves. A small tophat sat upon her head at an angle. White boots, ill-suited for the sort of strenuous activity one usually found on a playground, encased her feet. Low on her back, she wore a set of fluffy white wings.
She smiled when she noticed him — nothing more than a subtle curve of her lips.
“You live around here?” she asked, voice barely crossing the distance between them.
“Yes,” Énna said, unintentionally loud. He startled himself, almost took a step back, but he reached for the steel fence and grounded himself again.
The curve of her lips twitched, then broadened.
Énna knew he’d never seen her before, yet something about her kindled a sense of familiarity. Deeply-rooted, it was an innate awareness, as if some part of him answered a silent call
I know you, he thought. You know me.
“You should run along home, then,” she said. “It’s dangerous to be out on your own.”
“Who are you?” Énna asked.
She wasn’t one of the neighbors. She wasn’t a groundskeeper. There weren’t any nearby establishments she could’ve come from where her attire wouldn’t attract attention. She was beautiful and strange — frightening, in a way. She gave off an otherworldly air, unknown but all-knowing, something ethereal caught between planes of reality.
Her lips twitched again — a bold red smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“No one,” she said.
A lie, spoken so softly into the cool evening breeze Énna almost didn’t hear it. Her hair shifted around her face, as did his own. Énna found that he couldn’t look away from her. Her very presence kept him rooted to the spot, waiting for something he had no explanation for.
A rustling from the trees interrupted their standoff. Énna looked to the path, tense with fear, despite no other sign of human life. It was probably a possum, or a raccoon.
It was a cat — ruddy colored with a fluffy tail, like a fox. Instead of a traditional collar, the cat wore a golden bow. The cat meowed. Énna thought it sounded annoyed.
“Go on,” the woman said. It took a moment for Énna to realize she was talking to him, and not the cat. “You’re safe, for now.”
She spoke with confidence, accompanied by a cryptic edge. Énna wanted to know how she knew that, what she meant by it, who she was, what she was doing there dressed like that. Why that specific playground? Why that particular evening? Why him?
Because he’d stopped at the gate instead of moving on. Because she was on the swing near the opposite gate, the one that led out to the path, concealed now by trees and shadow. Because she was something other, and he was just a boy with no direction, no courage, and no hope.
Looking at her was like finding an answer, only he didn’t know what it meant.
The woman stood. Booted feet carried her to the cat, who meowed again in a displeased fashion.
Énna had the strange, overwhelming urge to ask, Who am I?
He said nothing, merely watched as the woman opened the other gate and left with the cat at her side — down the path and into the dark.
