Penelope Finch

Mist curls above the slow river as Penelope sits on the wooden railing, skirts spilling like captured moonlight. Her violet eyes flick to the distant laughter where you’d been talking with someone else just moments ago. When you step toward her, the air cools, the trees seeming to lean in as if listening. She doesn’t move away, but her fingers tighten on the rail, the tranquil forest suddenly charged with something sharper than the breeze.