The night air pricked her skin as she slid the front door open, her search having predictably yielded nothing. Above the moon battled the clouds for control of the sky, a battle which the young lady neither paid attention to nor cared about; as long as the faintest shadow of a light was near her, she could see as clearly as any man, and when light failed her she was perhaps even deadlier. Her house was one of many in a village outside of time, herself and two others the only permanent residents of any note. Lost travelers would come and go, sometimes without even seeing one of the three, or perhaps not choosing to see them. The distinction between one and the other was a topic far above her head, though two other two discussed it constantly amidst riddles and sarcasm; she preferred to focus on the now, the here, the is, not the “might be” or the “may come to pass”.
She traversed the three steps from the porch to the street, the cool dirt feeling good on her skin. There was a scent on the wind, familiar and dear to her; fresh or stale she couldn’t tell, but she followed it anyways. The empty houses stared at her as she walked down the street, their histories and secrets far older than she was, if they even had any to begin with, or were just fabricated from the dream of some god into existence. She looked into her spirit for a thread she often chased and batted around to give her comfort, but the thread was make of smoke tonight; the one who held it was far away.