Chance blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

She had stooped over fragile porcelain cups, thin as eggshells,
translucent to the light, in a shop in Chinatown in Phildelphia.

She had been a child in a woman's body, running through the lighted
fountains of Centennial Park in Atlanta at night while fireworks
filled the sky.

She had wandered parks and alleyways of New York City for a time,
following a siren's call that eventually eluded her.

And she had been in New Orleans again, weaving among crowds on Bourbon
Street, looking for the hidden courtyard, but this time it eluded her.

She carefully adjusted her velvets skirts, some of which now shimmered
with dark colours, subtle patterns showing through.

The dance fragmented, wavered, and ended. Chance suddenly discovered
she was thirsty, gathered up her skirts, and wandered up to the bar.

"Hullo again Winter, do you still know how to make a Frosty Kiss?"

~elisabeth