Of course, the most abominable and nasty of litanies thought up by the most indignant of shades in gallows weepily read their lines or monologued inwardly first and foremost. Nothing so trivial as he may actually live here. Did he follow her? She would have seen him. Having peeked over her shoulder when the noise of the glass door ricocheted softly in every shadowed cranny, the familiarity made her turn around fully to face him. Tilting her head, hood falling off, staring at him the way a predator does when something unwanted and unusual comes stalking on its territory, she didn't look that pleased. She looked disoriented.
But then she remembered the hexagram he'd stapled into her mind, cursed her with eternally. The dreaded word that launched a remote happiness.
She pressed her smile against her teeth, dimples betraying her attempt to conceal it.