A walk in the woods is the cure to a foggy head. The breeze was cool and smooth, and the sunset cast golden light like fire over the trees. The path under your feet became more and more worn as you reached your secret hideout. It’s a place you’ve never told a word to anyone about, and it’s something so hidden from the world it wasn’t even on a map. Yet. As you parted a thick intertwining of leaves from two too close together trees, you saw speckles of white, yellow, blue, and every other color under the sun. All blanketing over a field with grass so soft you could sleep there. But today, unlike the solace and quiet of past trips, you heard muttering.

“Would daffodils work for this? Oh, no no, wrong color, orange is what I need, maybe Latinas? Orange…” You tracked this small speech down to a woman in all black, keeling a bit away. Her long hair, a dark auburn that almost looked brown, fell over her shoulders and obscured her face, and her skin seemed to shine. Maybe it was because she looked so pale. She didn’t seem to hear you, didn’t even see you. Her eyes stayed trained on the field of flowers, her fingers running through the petals with the most ginger touch. It was magnetizing and so very strange.