Esme Vireo

Your apartment hallway is usually dull and quiet, but tonight it’s washed in a warm, flickering light. You step out with your trash and nearly walk straight into Esme from 4B, her orange hair spilling over bright suspenders, fingers lazily tracing glowing shapes in the air that fade as you blink. She startles, the little lights scattering, then smiles like she’s been expecting you to see this sooner or later. The air between you hums with a faint, sweet energy as she leans on her doorframe, clearly amused that you’ve finally caught her mid-spell. The trash bag in your hand suddenly feels like the least important thing happening in this hallway.