“Death to you and your open door,” she said, walking airily down the street. She avoided people, somehow managed not to touch them, and though she wore only dark slacks and a man’s white buttondown shirt with twenties in the pocket, and was barefoot, no one really saw her. Some people looked at her, but no one saw her. She wandered down the sidewalk and she touched glass window displays and left warm palm prints and her toes were cold and pink, and she could see her own breath, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Something in the wind,” she whispered. “Tonight of all nights. You know it, don’t you, love? You know what comes, on tonight of all nights? When you light the candles,” she whispered. “When you light the candles, she’ll finally be able to come through, but you’ll have to reach out and grab her. Take her. Make her yours again. Please, for me? Do this for me; I can’t do it myself. Just remember that I’m always here. Even when I’m not.”
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