People disappear. People leave without a word. Mirèlha just vanished into thin air, without a word or message to any soul on earth. When asked, no one knew where she went.
It was noticeable at the monthly meetings. One month, her seat was empty. The second month, it was empty again. By the third month, someone had taken it.
This month, however, there was a familiar figure sitting in it. She was always early to these meetings, but something was changed about her. It may have been that her once simple appearance had altered. Her straightened red hair, was now a wild tangle of curls that barely held together with a claw clip. Her once plain gray dress suit was replaced with tweed pants and a frilled blouse. Her former 'porcelain skin' was now speckled with freckles, and her only makeup was a dash of red lipstick.
Even her demeanor had shifted. When it was her turn to speak, she had always practiced her English at these meetings, where her voice was humble and quiet. This time around she spoke passionately in French, relying on a translator to get her words across. But her voice was strong and assertive, a contrast to her former passive self. One can even see the passion in her face as she talked, her voice rising and interrupting others when they interrupt her.
When it finally came time to a recess, Mer left her belongings and joined a group of Francophone nations, smoking a cigarette and engaging in lively conversation. Her laughter was loud and carefree, her smile wide and genuine. There was something different about her.
After her chatter, she excused herself to finish her smoke by sitting on a railing, smoking and observing passerby.