Musings

[Midnight. The woman who walked through the portal that evening was insignificant. She was old, a lifetime old, and her coat was a mess of tatters that had seen better days, and the leaves collected at her feet like dead nothings in the moaning wind. She might have been called Grizabella once, but she didn't think there was anything beautiful about being grizzled as she was. No. As she walked through Seattle, all she could do was remember, and as she remembered, the Creations remembered, too. Memories, carried on the moaning wind, which blew blustery and strong for five days, touching every Creation in the city.]