Tales from a Market

notevenjokingfic:

Part I

He sees her early, every Saturday morning.  

Jeans.  Soft, well-worn t-shirt.  Sometimes a lightweight jacket, sometimes a bulky sweater. Sometimes a scarf, and a pea coat.  She wears flats most days, until the weather forces her feet into colourful Wellies, or thick-soled boots.  Sometimes her curls are tucked up under a knit hat, or tied into a ponytail under a ball cap.  Sometimes they fly free, dancing, and swirling, with the wind for a partner.

Sometimes she wears her sunnies, sometimes glasses with thick black frames. Sometimes her eyes are  uncovered, and her eyes dart and glow with amber brilliance.  

She is always alone.

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