Cassandra wasn't having a very good day. That morning she had left the house with purpose: she had gone to climb the highest tree in Troy, her favourite tree, the one that she could see over the roof of the palace from. She knew only that she was young and that, at that tree, Helenus was waiting. She kept thinking she saw him just ahead of her, the people of New York becoming Trojans and the winding busy streets becoming the palace corridors.
She didn't remember all that now. Cassandra's purpose had abandoned her and sanity had returned, but now she was left somewhere unfamiliar and too far from home to know where it was. She'd walked for a bit but there were too many people pressing in around her. She could feel no prophesies on her lips and those were the worst times. As much as she hated this gift that Apollo had given her, it frightened her to be left without the future unraveling before her. It meant anything at all could happen.
Eventually she found the doorway of a closed shop and curled herself there. People ignored her and Cassandra felt invisible. Maybe she was. Maybe she was a ghost. She pulled her arms out of her sleeves and into her shirt, trying to get warmer.