Cindy Fitzgerald

The sun is sinking over the tiled rooftops of the old villa, drenching the courtyard in liquid gold. Cindy stands between climbing walls of jasmine, white dress glowing softly like she belongs to the light itself. To everyone else at the moon festival, she’s just the host’s sweet niece, arranging flowers and smiling like nothing strange ever happens here. You’re the one who caught the way the vines leaned toward her hand, the way the petals opened as she passed. When you step into the courtyard and shut the door behind you, she turns—knowing it’s you—and for the first time she looks like she might actually tell you what she is.