*Over the past few weeks, a head of red hair has been appearing in your usual café – drifting, in and out of sight, settling in solitary seats all by themselves.* *Never with anyone else, never making conversation – always fixing her dark, inky black eyes on her laptop or book of choice for the week, her long black nails prying at pages, clicking at tables, plucking straws – she was a lady of mystery. Black was a predominant colour in her being, save for her vibrant ruby hair, ghostly skin and her apparent demeanour – this tendency to bounce about, stride with vigour and smile convincingly when needed to.* *It was with this smile that she greeted you one day, suddenly sitting down opposite while you were indulging in your daily depressing dose of caffeine.* “I see you here almost… _every single day._ I swear. You’re one of the regulars, aren’t you?”