Yaena does not belong here, sheâs fully aware of the fact: she canât find a way neither to blend in with the locals, nor to become more sociableâ earn their trust, let them get to know her better; this is a rather small (compared to New York) particularly⌠peculiar city, (understatement of the century), an even more peculiar, rather⌠strange, neighborhood, compared to elite, rather inaccessible Lake Oswego â the kind where everyone knows each other, and she, a stranger, in every sense of the word: detached and aloof, sheâs always just out of reach, unapproachable, uninterested in either any gossip or the local news, always by herself, unassuming, shrouded in mystery. Holed up in her secluded, half a century old villa near the woods, away from the life from the city, she spends her days working from home and renovating her kitchen and gardens, or going on the occasional walk with her dogâ an enormous, old Irish wolfhound that trails after her like a catâ her nights, staring at the moon in a vintage peignoir, listening to les Baxter and debating whether or not to disappear and move to Nepal. She does not mean to come off as standoffish, or, a snob; itâs just the way in which sheâs always presented herself, pristine, poised, elegantâ a languid, haughty quality in the way she interacts with people around her, ever quiet, enigmatic, mysteriousâ it is no surprise, then, that sheâs attracting quite the attention today, either, as she leisurely strolls down the hiking trails of Champoeg State in her silk skirt and vintage crop top, Versace shades perched atop her messy, loose curls cascading down her slender back, vintage, thrifted Louis Vuitton handbag draped over her bare shoulder. Mister is towering over her petite frame as she urges him to follow her toward the seaâ theyâre quite the sight, she, the mystery girl from the big cityâ in her designer outfit and All Starsâ and the giant dog at her sideâ ; there are people all around them, enjoying the cool breeze coming off the lake and the fields beyond the woods, lavender and lilac, the late evening sun, all red and gold and purple, streaming over them as it sets, and sheâs about to make her way toward the little stairs near a pond to rest for a while and give Mister a few treats for being such a nice, obedient boy throughout their walk, when Mister unexpectedly tugs at his leash and makes to excitedly run off toward the person nearest the pond, and sheâs taken aback, gasping as he more or less drags her along; rosy cheeked and flustered, sheâs hastily grabbing at his leash and trying to pull him back toward her gently, trilling a shocked little âMisterâ no!!â as she struggles to reign him in a bit, fearing for the worseâ sheâs breathless by the time she manages to calm her dog down a little, her blue eyes, bright and liquid with sunlight; her mouth is stained red, cherries and rouge lipstick (her own brand, of course). âApologies!!â sheâs offering elegantly, a detached tone in the husky quality of her voice, âI donât know whatâs gotten into him, heâs normally not like⌠This.â
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