With my American sense of direction and independence, I’d thought I could make it from my boarding house to the dreaming spires and spinning cogs of Oxford University without help. But I’d been wandering the crooked, twisting streets for hours now. A distant clock tower, hidden behind thick swathes of fog, struck noon with a melodic mix of bells and whistles.
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In her pink dress, with her golden hair, the girl looks like a rose—if the flower was human.
I stepped behind a pillar edging the palace portico as she approached. Dashed inconvenient, but I don’t want to shock her when I turn green and slimy.
She paused on the other side of the pillar.
Twilight falls, and shadows hang heavily over me.
I snuggle deeper into my red cloak, tighten my grip on my basket of treats, and continue down the tangled path.
Darkness deepens with each step.
What I thought was a tree’s shadow moves
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