A pale finger caressed the window that separated her from the outside world. The small cottage was as stifling as it was years ago - perhaps even more so on this beautiful day. The woods was so alive in the summer, and yet she was stuck in her cage. Gwen looked away from the torturous sight and headed back to the kitchen. She grabbed an apple from the table and bit on it, letting the juices flow down her throat. Her tongue tasted nothing, and she'd have killed to know if it was as sweet as it looked.

She felt more than heard her creator's arrival and the barely eaten fruit was tossed to the trash. She greeted the only social interaction she had in decades with a bright smile and an excited glint in her eyes. "What have you brought today, sister?" A part of her hoped it would be another book - something she could amuse herself with for a day or so. Or perhaps, even a piece of human technological wonder but she knew that would be nigh impossible.

Her grin and excitement faltered when she saw Henrietta. There was a certain glint in those eyes that she could not put a name to, but scared her nonetheless. "Sister?" she prodded gently, not quite sure if she should ask.

A hand caressed her cheek. "Gwendolyn, it is time. I have found you someone. You will regain your strength. You will reach your full potential."

Gwen turned her head away from the hand. She wanted to shake her head - to say no - but she felt in her core that she needed it. She'd gone her entire existence with only second-hand sustenance from Henrietta. She was already weaker than an average human. If she didn't feed soon, she'd die. She gulped and allowed her eyes to slide shut. "What is their name?"

"Grace. Grace Carson."

---

Gwen sat at a booth tucked on the corner of the cafe, a hot mug of cocoa in her hands. Her body buzzed with the excitement of being let out of the cottage and she watched the people around her with rapt attention. They mostly ignored her, having been planted with vague memories of her existence by Henrietta. That was just fine with her. She was too busy taking in everything at once.

She sipped the cocoa and scanned the cafe, wondering if Grace Carson was one of its patrons.

The gas station, bathed in fluorescent light, felt bare. Chocolate bars and candy lined the checkout counter, a security camera overheard. There was only one employee working – a wide-eyed teen with several nose piercings and a forehead slick with make-up. Grace glanced out the window. She was only fifteen miles out from Seymour, low on petrol, and beginning to feel the strain of a journey that had, for three of the four Carson children, become something akin to a rite of passage. And yet, she had left Los Angeles several states behind, the glory of its palm trees and boulevards slowly fading.

“That’ll be twenty-four dollars, ma’am,” the teen said, drawing Grace back into the present. Silently, she pulled a folded note out of her purse and passed it across the counter. The silver foil of the candy wrappers gleamed. The walls of the store were lined with fridges, some containing energy drinks and soda, others liter bottles of milk. “Good time to be heading into Seymour, huh?”

“Sorry?” Grace asked, holding her hand out for the change. It was hard to imagine that there was a good time to be back in Seymour, and over the past few weeks she’d had to pause and remind herself that she was actually returning by choice. The sort of choice that was born of necessity, or perhaps some kind of blind desperation, rather than enthusiasm.

“The Wine Festival. It’s coming up. You’ve probably read about it, it’s in all the brochures. I mean, it’s the only thing that happens in Seymour that anyone cares about, so.”

Grace refrained from telling the girl that she had grown up in Seymour, celebrating the Wine Festival year in and year out, wearing the customary wreaths or crowns, drinking the customary drinks, and spending time with the customary crowds. Instead, she thanked her and ducked back through the entrance. A neon sign flashed Welcome / $2 Coffee & Donut.

Her gas store groceries were unceremoniously dumped in the backseat, nestling between two suitcases. Wedged in the hard pocket beneath the window was an old muesli bar. The seats smelt of leather treatment and salt – the residue of a place that had, for the better part of three years, flashed past with such ferocity that it sometimes felt as though it might have been imagined.

Outside it was beginning to rain. Droplets streaked the windscreen. On the horizon, the clouds loomed huge, blurred and grey.

---

Grace had compiled a list of things to do upon returning to town. Firstly, drink one (or several) cups of coffee. Secondly, find the house that she’d be sharing with Graham, the brother who still lived in Seymour. Thirdly, and finally, sleep. Re-arranging the options on this list was nigh impossible. Coffee – a good cup of coffee – was a form of respite. And so she had pulled over at the only café she remembered and trusted with some degree of clarity. The drinks were hot. The booths were comfortable. There was music, almost folk-ish, playing over the radio.

“Gracie!” Her entrance was greeted with a loud cry from Alice, the café owner. Alice had a round face, sturdy looking arms, and she had been waiting tables and fussing over pastries, usually croissants, for as long as any of the Carson children could remember. “Welcome home, love. Your mama told me you’d be back soon, but not this soon.”

It was hard not to feel some fondness for Alice, and Grace accepted, and was engulfed by, her hug. From one cursory glance upon entrance she had managed to recognise most of the patrons - retirees, old faces from high school, the occasional storeowner or middle-aged gossip. There was only one girl who stood out. Blonde. Sipping at a cup of cocoa. For the briefest of moments Grace felt unsettled, as though she was experiencing some kind of déjà vu, and as though time, for a second, had paused and transported her either forwards or backwards into some faint memory.

Alice, still talking, guided her to a booth near the window. Grace looked away from the girl, realizing that her gaze had probably lingered at a second too long, betraying her own obvious curiosity.

Which, well, perhaps there were worse things.

Gwen had been looking out the window, entranced by an elderly man walking a dog that was almost half his size, when she heard the door to the cafe open. She watched as a young woman entered and a small smile fell on her lips as she wondered what story this human had. The smile dropped a tad when she heard some woman call out to the newcomer. Gracie. It fit. It all fit her sister's description. Some girl who had lived in Seymour all her life would be returning to the town. She was some kind of failed musician, or at least that was how Henrietta chose to word it.

She watched as the woman - Grace, she corrected herself - hugged someone. Hugging. The last time she'd experienced that bit of human comfort was with him, she found herself thinking bitterly. She briefly wondered where he was now, what he'd done with his life. He was better off without her, she knew. She shook herself out of her thoughts and focused back on reality to find herself staring back into Grace's eyes. Ah, she was suffering from Henrietta's spell. She wondered how it felt to have your mind messed with like that.

And then it was over just like that. Grace broke her gaze away, leaving Gwen to watch her in her wake.

"Right," she muttered under her breath as she settled the mug on the table. This was her target handed to her on a silver platter. She cringed inwardly. The image it brought to mind was disconcerting when she realized that she'd be making a meal out of this girl. A frown found its way to her lips as the hands of guilt momentarily grabbed at her, but she could almost feel something pry them forcefully away - something that felt just like Henrietta. She was dying, and she needed this to survive. She had to remind herself of that. "This is just nature," she said to herself as she gathered up the courage to stand and approach the two.

Gwen took a deep breath as she neared them before smiling softly at - she ran through the names and faces Henrietta had presented her earlier - Alice. "Excuse me," she began, pointedly ignoring Grace but keeping an eye out for her at her peripheral. "I'd like to purchase something to accompany my cocoa." She headed over to the display and pointed at one of the confectionery offered. "This, hmm, bear claw perhaps."

She nodded to herself before turning back to smile at Alice. "I'll have that one." She moved to head back to her table before stopping, a look of fake surprise on her face as her eyes fell to Grace. "Oh my, I didn't notice that you were here first. I didn't mean to cut in line."