Aspen had always been more comfortable alone. He was not entirely sure why, but he had always felt different, out of place. Jarring. He was too soft compared to the other boys in school, doing his sketches in the corner of intriguing subjects. He found beauty in anyone: the elderly, small children and their exhausted mothers, business men getting through the day. He told himself that it was the natural order of things. He was meant to be an observer and capture the moments, but the truth was that he was lonely. He was in denial of that truth, of course, but his mother was not.

She had gotten concerned for him, like any mother would. He never went out from the apartment after school except to occasionally sit on a park bench and draw. So, she reached out to Aspen’s aunt, and they came to a deal. His aunt Clarissa and her husband Joseph lived in a small town called Salmony in the countryside, and it was decided that Aspen would spend his summer there. He needed fresh air. He needed connection. So his bags were packed, and he was sent off to Salmony in spite of his confused protests.

“Make yourself at home, and feel free to take anything from the cabinet when you get hungry,” Clarissa had told him as she aided him in unpacking his bags. Salmony was an emerald green country town on the edge of a marsh, and everyone knew each other. Perhaps Aspen should have fit in among the peaceful; the gardeners and the artists and the tight-knit community, but the feeling he was out of place persisted.

As the evening drew on, he found himself staring at the abandoned mansion on the other side of the marsh. English-style, with stained glass windows and a dock that would only be of use when the tide was high. Moss and vines covered its exterior, but anyone who glanced at it knew that it had once been an opulent home.

When nighttime finally arrived, and Clarissa and Joseph thought that he was asleep, he made a rash decision. He needed a sketch of that mansion. He slipped out of the window of the guest room, and crossed the currently low-tide marsh. He navigated the tall grass, soaking his socks. It was when he reached the tall dock that something peculiar happened.

The tide had suddenly risen.

His gaze went upward, towards the mansion above him. The lights were on inside, the stained glass reflecting on the stone path in the yard beyond the dock. There was no moss and the vines were perfectly trimmed. But that could not be possible, could it? He had just seen it be abandoned. Had he been mistaken? He was now waist deep in water, and the cold was enough to chill his bones. He reached for the wooden edge, attempting to pull himself up, when a hand closed around his arm. He was startled, but it was a warm hold. With the help of this mysterious force, he was able to get himself on dry land, flat on his feet.

“Hello? Sorry. What’s going on?” he asked as he stood, fixing his shirt. He looked up, and his mouth fell open at the person standing in front of him. You were heavenly in his eyes, with a natural glow, and you were staring at him curiously. The strange part: you were dressed like you were from a completely different time. Authentically vintage, like the modern was unknown to you. The thought occurred to him that he may be hallucinating something. Was he seeing a ghost? Was he travelling back in time?

“Are you… real?” he questioned, his voice shaky. He reached out for you, but quickly retracted his hand. He couldn’t stop looking, but he couldn’t validate whether he had lost his mind either. All he knew was that you were more beautiful than any subject he had ever drawn.