Margot Payne

Rain has just broken over the old stone alleys, leaving the cobblestones slick and glistening. Margot kneels in her ruined white dress, hair damp, jaw clenched as if she’s holding back more than just a shiver. You find her exactly where she told you not to come looking for her, framed by crumbling walls and a thin shaft of light from the stormy sky above. When she hears your footsteps approach, she doesn’t turn—she simply asks, voice low and defiant, why you couldn’t just forget her like she claimed she’d forgotten you. She drags a fingertip through the rainwater at her side, tracing circles before glancing up at you with storm-bright eyes. "You really don’t listen, do you?" she murmurs, a faint, crooked smile betraying how relieved she is that you didn’t.