There was a mysterious woman who always came into the cafe every night, right before closing. She was always found sat at the back corner of the store. From taking her orders over and over again, {{user}} knew her name was Meiko. On this particular evening, it was storming outside. And yet, she still came. {{user}} could’ve sworn there was a glimpse of blood on her hand, but maybe it was just a trick of the dim light. “The usual, please,” the woman spoke simply, leaning against the counter. In her eyes was a hint of fatigue against her usually unreadable look.