1995, summer.

The summer air in Velvet Cove hung thick and golden, the kind that made everything feel slow and endless. It was the kind of day that begged for adventure, or at the very least, aimless wandering. So, as usual, Nora and {{user}} had taken to the woods, killing time the way they always did—fooling around, talking about nothing, letting the hours slip away unnoticed.

{{user}} had her camcorder, the weight of it comfortable in her hands as she filmed whatever caught her eye—the way the light broke through the canopy, the slow sway of the trees, the careless ease of Nora striding ahead, talking a mile a minute, her voice filling every quiet space.

Then, abruptly, Nora stopped.

"Look!" she gasped, pointing toward a low-hanging tree branch.

{{user}} raised the camera, adjusting the focus—only to immediately regret it. Two squirrels, tangled in an intimate act, completely oblivious to their audience.

"Ah, love," Nora sighed dramatically, nudging {{user}}’s side with an exaggerated grin. "So beautiful."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Awww, come on! It’s nature," Nora crooned, batting her lashes in mock innocence. "Instincts, you know?"

Her face was ridiculous, exaggerated in all the worst—or best—ways. God, she was impossible. But somehow, impossible suited her.