The evening’s damp heat clung to Rowan, the day’s swelter refusing to loosen its grip just yet even as the sun sank below the horizon. Light, lacy fabric of a lavender sundress brushed against her bare legs, allowing some relief in the quiet nocturnal hum of the park, as did the long braid wound and pinned to the back of her head. Fierce competition raged between the smell of the mosquito repellent on her skin and the warm fragrance of the blossoms in the carefully curated flower garden as she approached. It had been a few months since her last visit and she looked forward to the small pleasure of the blooms which had supplanted the jubilant colors of spring.

She couldn’t say when the melody first reached her ears, maybe it had always been there.
Part of her, intertwined with the essence of her being.
Lilting and melancholy as it danced through the summer air.

The warmth of companionship dearly missed and at last regained, the profound sadness of separation after a reunion all too fleeting. A song shared among the scent of unfamiliar flowers. A sense of complete understanding.

An undeniable pull drew her effortlessly from the garden, all other thoughts driven into oblivion by the unplaceable longing. Her eyes slid closed as she listened, mind streaking through memories past and present, vainly seeking purchase on the slickness of her elusive quarry. It slipped her grip, weaving through the edges of consciousness as she followed it deeper into the park.

Eyes open once more, foliage flew past the young woman, now sprinting as the song grew louder with each step.

Slight stumbles, thorns against bare skin, a heel caught in a hole. If others stood by to witness Rowan’s half-crazed dash they went unnoticed, vanishing among the blur of trees and shrubs as her desperation to reach the unseen musician before the song was lost once more mounted. Pure luck prevented her from plunging headlong into a small pond ringed by stoic willows. Any odors that might have emanated from the blooms of algae were lost on her as she searched frantically for the performer. They were here, they had to be here. They were calling her. They were calling her. The song was hers so it was only right that they showed themselves. They wanted her to come. They had to have wanted her to come. She didn’t dare speak, to break the music with her earthly voice, right as she was to greet its maker would be an unforgivable sin.

And then, it was gone, fading into the chorus of crickets and rustling leaves.

“Hello? I’m here! Where are you? Please! I’m not going to hurt you. Just come out!

Rowan’s voice sounded foreign, distant, as it struck her ears with unexpected violence, as though it echoed back toward her from some far off canyon. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her calls went unanswered. Cold hollowness contracted within her chest, a sensation at once achingly familiar and entirely unknown.