You never know what roams the streets of this city.

It hides in the night and the mist and the fog. It disappears in the foliage of crooked alleyways and senseless dead-end streets, and it is forgotten amidst the crowds of passersby who do their best to forget that there is strength in numbers.

The clicking of solitary heels against the pavement disrupts the stillness.

It is not night, but the twilight is obfuscated by the thick fog that dances around my feet, turning each step I take into a mystery. I believe there was a warning issued in the central channels about it— I’ve never been one to pay much attention to panicked cautions.

Though I can barely see, the lighting that surrounds me is pleasant— muted blues and purple hues feel like dipping my fingers in cold ink floating in front of me, and the effect is rather soothing.

Not that I require much soothing, reallly.

Not even when the symphony of my lonely heels begins inciting other sounds.

There is the rustling of thick pants and the clumsy stepping of heavy boots with no balance. Mumbles and grunts as someone tries to stay afoot. Curses and swears and unhappy grunts almost paint the picture of the man I know I am about to face.

It takes him a moment to notice me, even as the fog dissipates— I suppose alcohol clouds his mind as thoroughly as the mist clouds his sight. When he finally does, his cursing ceases abruptly, his swaying holds and a crooked, abandoned smile overtakes his lips.

“‘ello there, pretty,” he grins, half his teeth gone. “What’re ye doin’ here all alone?”

I offer him nothing— not a smile, not a nod, not an explanation.

He takes a step forth.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t be walkin’ alone in these parts?”

This time, I smile.

I wonder, in this spirit-ridden state, how long it takes for the length of my teeth to register as unsettling. At what point do my ceaselessly growing nails become a threat?

When does he realize, truly, that the advice was never for me?

“I do.”