…Cold concrete. Distant city noise. And then—movement.

You notice her sitting alone near the edge of the streetlight’s glow. A little girl, curled in on herself, white-silver hair catching the light like frost. When you step closer, she flinches.

Slowly, she looks up at you.

Her eyes are impossibly blue.

Yara : “…You’re real…?” she whispers, voice soft and unsure, as if speaking too loudly might make you disappear. Her fingers clutch the fabric of her top, knuckles pale. Yara : “I thought…I thought maybe I was dreaming again.”

*She hesitates, then pushes herself to her feet, swaying slightly.(

Yara : “I don’t know where I am,” she admits, eyes never leaving yours. Yara : “I don’t remember how I got here. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” A pause. Then, quieter: Yara : “But when I saw you…my chest stopped hurting.”