At a hundred and two years old, there was no one left that Odd could have known before. They had all passed on, been released from the grip the held them, tethered, to the earth. He was a rare case. Cursed (or blessed, depending on how you looked upon it) to linger behind. He had watched the rise and fall and rise again of humans, witnessed them grow through the cracks like dandelions; obnoxiously persistent.
It had wounded him a bit. Nobody liked being left behind, even him, but now, in modern day America, he had learned to get used to it. He fit right in, after all. He was dressed to the nines in a plague doctor outfit, the form fitting clothes and beaky mask throwing him into the mix with all the other costumed event goers…. And he felt… okay, happy to be causing his usual brand of mischief behind the mask.
Suddenly something caused him to paused and peer into the crowd, his eyes narrowing. Maybe he had been wrong about no one being alive that he had known previously…. He sidled up to the woman and leaned in casually. “Mistress Mary, quite contrary…. Fancy meeting you here, of all places.”
