closed with @bledhard
The South was sticky. Oppressive. It clung to her skin like the air itself wanted her dead. She wasnāt sure why she had come here except that Salem had started to turn on her again. Too many whispers, too many eyes that lingered a little too long, too many questions muttered behind her back. That always meant it was time to go. A few decades away, then she could return and start fresh.
She might have gone back to New Orleans, she always did when things got bad, but she had already been there too much. Faces would start to remember her, and that wouldnāt do. So instead, she found herself in this godforsaken corner of the South, baking alive under the sun and already regretting every second of it.
Her dress was wrinkled, bunched up awkwardly as she sat in the dirt between two saloons, knees pulled to her chest and chin resting atop them. It wasnāt ladylike, not by any stretch, but she was past caring about appearances. Sweat clung to her hairline, sliding down the back of her neck, and she felt miserable in a way that tugged at more than her body, it tugged at her heart. She missed Salem. The streets, the sounds, even the danger of it all. Here, she was nothing but a stranger suffocating in the heat.
Her annoyance twisted together with that ache of longing until it burned in her chest, and she might have sat there brooding until nightfall until her eyes landed on someone moving down the dirt path. A man. His boots kicked up dust with each step, his silhouette sharp against the glare of the sun. She didnāt move, didnāt even pretend to be in proper posture.
Instead, she simply stared at him, her chin heavy against her knees, dark eyes following the stranger like he was the first interesting thing she had seen in days.
