I can’t decide whether I regret walking rather than driving to the library.

It’s freezing cold at the bus stop, and I’m already numb down to my toes, but the roads are so slick with black ice and whatever non-black ice is called…just normal ice I guess - that I’m almost positive I’d-

Mmmf.

Have a bit of trouble.

A cold that has nothing to do with the weather makes it into my bones, and I bite my lip until the skin cries out.

I decide I’m grateful.

It wouldn’t kill me to take the bus, and the bus driver is probably, hopefully, a better driver than I am.

I can’t feel my fingertips…

Kattar will tell me I have no reason to be a bad driver when he taught me, but my nerves still turn to water whenever there’s ice or even snow on the road.

It’s better to be safe than sorry, and if my desire to be safe throws the odds of it to the wind, I’d better trust my life to someone else’s hands for the time being, at least.

Patience is a virtue I have a lot of practice in.

I blow on my reddening hands until the feeling comes into them again and dream of hot cocoa.

The bus’ll be here soon.

Stretching my feet out in front of me on the damp sidewalk I study the toes of my boots, make little doodles in the snow underfoot, and wish I’d put on something warmer this morning. 

But then I would have just been miserable then, instead of now.

How can the day start out so warm and then end in this chill?

Somehow that feels like a metaphor for my entire life.

I should text Kattar and ask him if he’s had dinner yet.

I want cheddar soup and a movie, and I have free reign when it comes to the soup in Kattar’s fridge because he absolutely refuses to eat any of it.

Shifting to grab my cell from my trench coat pocket I notice a very tall, very thin woman with snow in her hair ducking under the bus overhang with her long arms wrapped around her like lengths of white-bloused rope.

Aishhh, she looks cold.

I watch uselessly as she tries to brush the snow out of her natural before it melts.

“Um, here,” I find myself saying and she looks down at me suddenly with an expression that almost seems frustrated or angry.

I hold the tiny hand towel up a little higher to keep from throwing it to the ground and trying to run away - regardless of the snow.

I wonder if this is how the little girl with the umbrella felt.

She takes the towel from my hand like it has fangs or is made of broken glass and gives a crooked sort of half smile as she starts to dry her wet hair.

Her southern “Thank ya,” sounds like one word and I try not to smile at her accent, reminding myself how much it annoyed me every time the other kids told me my pronunciation was “cute,” back in school.

The woman hands the towel back to me with that same half smile and I just kind of nod, returning it to my bag and trying to think of something to say that’s not totally awkward as she sits down on the furthest possible end of the bench away from me.

Or…maybe not.

I’m usually okay with silence, but this one starts to feel creepy-crawly and frigid, though I do my best to ignore it and go back to staring at my shoes. Watch the cars.

Still, I can’t help glancing over at her from behind my hair when she’s not looking in my direction - and that’s always, as she just sits with her bare elbows resting on her legs, her head resting on the back of her hands.

She’s so slender she looks as if every part of her frame was whittled from the same twig of Mozambique Ebony, with branch-like fingers, and black, flowering, dandelion hair. 

Her skin, her hair, and her eyes are all nearly the exact same color, and the longer she sits still without moving, the more I wonder if she’s just a shadow.

***

Hey Everybody! This is Leyelle (the author) and I’ve got big news!

My new romance novel “A Dozen Morning Glories' is making its debut June 15th, here on Tapas, and it stars the woman Alicia interacted with here in this chapter.

Don’t worry, “Damsel in the Red Dress” is not ending. It’s just time for another story!

This story is not actually connected with the DITRD series in any way, so sorry, but this clip from Alicia’s POV is not canon. “A Dozen Morning Glories” is very different from DITRD in almost every way but all of the great plot, character dynamics, and story you’ve hopefully come to expect from me at this point are still very much alive and well in this piece as well.

I’ve got big goals for the novel, one of which (crazy I know) is to try and get 100 subs on it, before its debut chapter releases June 15th. 

So if you’d like to help me with this, click the link in my description and subscribe.

The goal is to do a special treat for all my supporters if I succeed, so please make sure you vote in the comments whether you’d like to see:

1. A Limited edition collection of poems free to download on my Patreon
2. A crazy one-shot chapter of a novel written to YOUR prompts (or a bonus chapter of DITRD written to your prompts.)
3. Something else - leave your suggestions in the comments.

Also share your assumptions or guesses about who this woman is, what she’s like/her personality is like, and so on. Let’s see how many of your guesses are accurate! Feel free to make them as far-flung as you like, or really try to detective her out based on this interaction. Either or. I’d love to see what you guess!