Torrential rain fell by the bucketful, each individual drop pelting against Paige’s umbrella with incredible force. But she did not stager, and was not swayed by the fierce currents of fresh, cool air, whipping at her face. Paige could be just as fierce, when she chose to.

Tugging at her leather jacket, she ignored the gates covered in withering plant growths, a sickly shade of death. That was her style, after all; Paige never looked any direction but forward. She only turned back when she couldn’t avoid it. “She would erase her footprints if she could,” Paige recalled a comment from a familiar voice that caused her lips to smile involuntarily. Shaking her head, she instantly regretted this thought.

The streetlights that hung above her head cast a dim brightness about the wide sidewalk, and Paige’s shadow was in the very middle of it. Her legs looked long and thin, and the existence of her umbrella caused her shadow’s torso to widen and stretch to unrealistic lengths. But Paige never looked at her shadow.