Hypnotized, she takes her own step toward the figure—toward that gushing thump. It notices and suddenly its hand is on her wrist, but she doesn’t flinch away because even though she can’t feel the warmth, she can sense it. She can sense the pulse of carefree laughter emanating through its skin and into hers. Somehow filling her with a different kind of heat that replaces the tug that has yanked so mercilessly in her pit for far too long. Replacing it with a soft glow.

The figure hums, a drone encompassing her mind and filling it with a brilliance like the most high-powered lightbulb is tucked away within her brain.

And it’s so warm.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the figure says. “Let’s just put the stick down and start over, shall we?”

She can feel her grip on the stick loosen in obedience. She can feel the stick being pulled from her grasp. She almost reaches for it again but hears it clatter to the ground before she can make a defensive decision. But better on the ground than in either of their hands.

“Good,” the figure says.

Yes, good, she thinks, entranced by the soothing wave of words. Good is good.

The hand tugs at her wrist and she lets it guide her out of the alley, perhaps because she trusts that warmth and perhaps because she is simply tired of fighting.

But that warmth is everything.

The light swells as they step out together and then it engulfs them both. It’s the sun. She’s been told about the sun. Like a rising lightbulb in the sky. She flinches at the searing power of it; her arm tenses with the thought of retreating back into the shadow, but the figure only holds on tighter.

“Hey, hey, that’s okay,” the figure soothes her with a hush, grabbing onto her other wrist in an act of connectivity, a circle created by their limbs. Only it’s not a figure. It’s a creature, basking in the golden glow of the breaking dawn. A female with brown hair that curls in delicious rings down the length of her back, tossed to one side of her head as if the weight would be too much to carry on both shoulders. With skin as silky and dark as that infinitely black ceiling, missing only the twinkle of dots but compensated by the lick of the sunrise. She wears a red skirt and a yellow shirt with a collar that hides beneath a puffy beige jacket. Her lips are thick and pink and her eyes are dark and endless pools of warmth.

It’s everything and it’s so beautiful.

The creature smiles at her as if she too can feel the power channeling between them. The intensity of being totally consumed by first sight.

The creature speaks: “My name is Tiffany.”

CHAPTER XXI

Let’s just start over, shall we? Please, let’s just start over. Because otherwise, if we don’t and if you run away, I’m going to be in big trouble.