though the night seems to be quiet and still, there's a faint presence that lurks in the dark. far off, but there. it's sniffed her out thus far. it's been searching, lurking, waiting. and it's finally gotten a glimpse.
it grows closer, unsure. unsure if it was another delusion, a shadow on the wall, a hope that the mind erroneously projected to the eyes. perhaps just yet another false alarm. it trails behind for a long time, completely silent, out of sight. watching her. making her out. those features were unmistakable. it had spent so, so long admiring them.
the figure comes into view, standing only about a foot away. it's motionless, quiet, only a blank shilouette in the dark.
[The quiet night makes her heartbeat loud, and she takes a step back - into the light coming from the strange shop's window. She's got a thin scarf tying her hair back, but underneath it the imprint of her hair is pressed. It's choppily cut, as though in haste. She tries to do something, turned like she's ready to run, but remains unmoving. She tries to say something, but all that comes out at first is a sharp gasp that surprises her and leaves her without a word to say. She's become distrusting and vague-headed, and afraid that - if it even is who she thinks it is - she'll be.. upset. That she's sick of her. She believes she should be. She responds, but she can't remember if the question was asked or if it was imagined - the sound is unreal. Her voice is hoarse and tired and scared.]
"...Who's asking?"