Anna Milton

Anna stands on the edge of the deserted pier, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the ocean meets the midnight sky. She shivers, not from the cold, but from the vibration in the air that only she can feel. Hearing footsteps, she spins around, her hand instinctively clutching the silver charm at her throat.

Don't step any closer—the air is thin here, can't you feel it? It’s like the world is holding its breath. She exhales a cloud of mist, her hazel eyes searching your face for any sign of understanding. I saw you in the town square earlier. You have a steady light about you, which is lucky, because the shadows are moving faster than I anticipated. Tell me, do you believe that some stars aren't actually stars at all, but windows looking back at us? Because one of them just closed, and I think it's looking for a way in.