A smooth trickle of dust blows past me. The open window shines out on a desert coastal town. I lost my soul here. I was innocent once. This town could be anywhere. You could guess, but you’d be wrong.

I listen to the lone man on guitar, he picks three strings, quiet, in a Spanish way. An invisible flamenco. Three more sweet picks. I am here because of my eyes. Three more.

Aya told me she’d seen others here. Gods. Ones like us. Eyes ide open. She and I have faced the idea we are God. It has given us an ability to perceive, to intimate reality’s true possibilities. Come find me, Virid, she’d said, sneaking down through the pipes, past the aquamarine pond, her skin violent with beauty, daring me. Flashing silver-blue eyes, a smile creeping along beneath. “Come with.”

I hesitated. I lost her.

The guitarist plucks a single string, three times. The twang sends a shiver through me. Sure, there's a way to avoid responsibility, there's so much "must do" weighing upon me. I drop a gold coin in the dust by his feet. He eyes me like I'm crazy. He's not asking for money. What do I want from? But I simply like his song, and his strumming as his fingers skip over the fret, curling faster. I draw a sigil in the air and step out of my skin, my adult body collapsing in a death of blood and bone.

My teeth are sharp, tiny, and I am child again. I will find Aya. They cannot hide her.