She smiled slow secret smiles from under cool grey eyes so we called her Selene, the moon. Cold, people called her. Hard. Detached. Too clever for her own good. Does she ever speak? Is she even listening? She held a mirror up to the world and we all thought we knew her, but we were only seeing ourselves, only judging our own shortcomings.

That summer the world went mad, and we did too. It was hazy and frightening, and Selene alone was unaffected. She set her jaw and walked through the chaos and we watched her go, rendered motionless by the shock of realising she was a stranger. We never saw her again.