The low voice of a man speaking from the television shared an update in regards to some remains found at the foot of a hill. The bones were aged, weathered by what seemed centuries worth of history, but that's only how they appeared. Appearances are always deceiving. In reality, these bones belonged to some people that went missing only a month ago...

But people are always dying, always getting murdered. These days the word "macabre" has found a new meaning- everydayness. As such, said news went largely unheard by Wendy. She left the tv on only as white noise, because the mere chatter of people always dissolved the dreary sense of aloneness.

She was lonely, but not to the point of contemplating the next world. In fact, her loneliness could more aptly be described as boredom. Currently, she was fighting this feeling by imitating her brother- doing what he would've done on a windy Saturday evening back when he was still alive.

Her fingers moved mechanically to open a small jar of Testors Model Masters acrylic paint, a red one. Next, she began to drybrush the figure in her hand, accenting the valleys and plateaus created by the musculature of the plastic warrior with a red hue that made it seem alive.

At first, painting small plastic men seemed weird for her, but after some sessions, Wendy became enamored by the hobby. She could see why her brother loved it, not to mention having made easy money by selling some of her work to toy collectors. There was something gratifying about it. Not just painting, but collecting.

Many people would find it strange to horde toys that were meant to distract children for a little while, but far stranger things existed. Stretching her arms, she remembered how a girl who introduced herself as Irene last week began to poke at a dead squirrel because it was "fun." It was at the park across her house where the unsettling encounter happened, around dusk, around this time...

Could she be there now?

Wendy wrinkled her brows and peered outside her window. There she was, standing like a doll in front of a tree, palms closed together as to offer prayer. Minutes went by, nothing changed. Then, as Wendy yawned and made up her mind to return to painting, her heart stopped. 

Irene, the strange girl, as though by some supernatural force knowing she was being examined, had looked up. Her eyes were fully locked with hers. She produced a calm smile, one that fit the current weather of autumn. The shine in her eyes gleamed with a special luminosity that was equal parts beautiful, mystical, and haunting. 

She turned around after waving to her observer.

 "What was that?" Wendy said pressing her back to the wall, a hand tightly clutching her left . 

Her surroundings suddenly felt cold and deathly quiet. The tv seemed to be on mute and the only music she heard came from the beating of her heart which pounded furiously. A new noise began to sound, one naturally irritating. A loud ringing assaulted her head. 

The strange silence along with the ringing disappeared as soon as it came. The tiny heart of hers also returned to its steady rhythm. She took slow, paced breaths and relinquished the clutch on her chest. Muttering some words to herself about Irene, she resumed her nocturnal delight of painting. 

An hour passed but all throughout, she received no satisfaction from painting and her work lacked the usual voluptuous quality it was known for. More than that, she had been itching to glance outside her window again. What if she was there?

Taking a deep sigh, she left her desk and peered outside, pulling the curtains aside by a tiny amount. A single eye studied the park, full of shadows and black shapes. The slide, monkey bars and numerous trees appeared to vibrate with a dark, enigmatic energy, but they held no true power. They were inanimate. The girl, Irene, however, she was one who could easily be mistaken as possessing something unknown to humanity. That was the impression Wendy had at least.

She wasn't there. Still, Wendy felt compulsed to make sure. The weird always contains a sensual feeling of allure, drawing those in ennui like moths to a fire...

In less than a minute, she found herself at the steps outside her house, second thinking what she was doing. It would be stupid for her to be supernatural, of course she was just a strange person meandering around the park at night- right? 

 "I'll just go back inside," she sighed. The cold of November wrapped her in a chilling embrace and she glanced at the moon, half full as if to reflect the nature of man which is half dark and half light.

All down the street she saw the lights off, but she knew that would soon change as Christmas approached. Part of her liked the idea of having the night invaded by bright greens and reds, but still, a more hidden part enjoyed the solemn ambience of a morose evening. 

Just as she made up her mind to go back inside, she heard the sound of her heartbeat gradually increase. She felt odd and knew by instinct she was being watched, probed just as she herself had done only an hour ago. Inside her pocket she gripped onto a small kaleidoscope, not out of fear, but as a sort of ritual. This act she did whenever she felt she had to brace herself for some new experience, and it was done on instinct, not careful deliberation. Few times since her brother died had she done this; it once belonged to him.

 "Hi."

 Like a drifting shadow Irene had come to meet Wendy. Presumably, she came from the swings that were located at no great distance from a set of trees that were quite tall. She was by no means an imposing girl, yet she exuded a special type of air that was scarcely ever felt by Wendy. The one other person she could relate this "grace" was to the priest she met at her brother's funeral, and that was only when he recited Scripture while in the garments of his office; while in casual attire, he was completely ordinary.

The fascination of the occult and supernatural was an interest her brother had, not her. Her mind never entertained ghostly phenomena, though she was hesitant to accept the notion of being alone in the universe. Aliens might exist, ghosts do not. However, now it seemed as though she were staring at one directly in the face.

Irene smiled, her ruby lips a thing of beauty which contrasted phenomenally well against her alabaster flesh. Wendy felt a hiccup in but reciprocated the smile with one of her own.

 "I'm sorry for staring at you through the window- I'm not some creep, I promise."

 She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry, you wouldn't be the first. At any rate, I was waiting for you..."

 Wendy felt close up. "What?"

 Without warning, the still night became filled with a boisterous laugh, one that would mistakenly be attributed to a man of vulgar character.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Irene finally regained her composure and answered her little watcher. "I was only kidding, love. I like to wander here during night and it's a total coincidence I was still here while you came out."

 "Love? Are you by any chance from Australia or the UK? But you don't have any accent..."

 "I've been around."

 The pair soon took a seat on the swings and as they talked, the weird aura of archaic wonder she felt as emanating from Irene vanished. She felt more human, the more they conversed.

 "So, when the Creator made man, man was made of earthly and heavenly subtance: dirt and divine breath. But what of the angels?"

 "I- I don't know. I don't read much..."

 "Were they made out of purely divine substance? Or out of cosmic dust? I was made out of cosmic dust by the way, only that the dust that I'm made of became mixed with mire the longer I spent time on Earth."

 "What?"

 Irene smiled again, "Just making sure if you're paying attention. But what about those evil beings? Fiends. Did you know- I read that the ancient sages believed they were among the living creatures Noah brought into his boat..."

 Wendy possessed a look of stupidity, not sure what to make out of all this trivia Irene shared. She was weirder than she thought, but so earnest were her eyes when she spoke that she couldn't ignore her. To retain her attention without missing a word, she fidgeted with her kaleidoscope.

 "What's that?" 

 "Huh? Oh, this?" Wendy snuck out her treasured memento. "It's something my brother left me."

Irene gestured to see it and while Wendy at first hesitated, she consented to her request. After a small study, she pressed the lens against her eye and remained quiet. While she gazed at mosaic colors, it felt as though she peered into the cosmos, observing a far off world at the edge of space. What did she see that she didn't?

 "Can I have it back?"

 "Oh, sorry- here."

 The toy back inside her pocket, she stood up and decided it would be best to return home. 

 "Do you know what he saw?"

 "Pardon?"

 Irene stared straight into her eyes, and as if it were, her soul. 

 "Your brother saw another world. He was discontent with this one, and sought a world of unchanging permanence where vanity has no place. He sought the world you currently are seeking."

 Wendy swallowed her spit. A hidden truth had been touched upon. 

 "Why do you say that? Did you know my brother?"

 "He loved me. We met right here, too."

 A scoff issued out of Wendy. "He never told me he had a girlfriend. Makes sense why he was always distracted, but what do you mean by all that?" 

The scarlet lips curved upwards. Wendy felt her pulse increase in gradual increments. That strange sense of alien wonder Irene earlier exuded returned. The winds died down and a new type of coldness filled the air. It was as though the two now existed in a vacuum and Wendy wanted out.

 "Why do you smile?" she asked, doing her best to stop her hands from shaking. Exactly when did she begin to tremble?

Irene took her hands and rubbed them together. "You're cold. We'll talk next time about your brother. It'll rain the whole week, so next Sunday around this time. See you then!"

Wendy nodded. Irene quickly disappeared but she was stuck in place. Looking at her hands, they felt strange and to make things worst, she began to doubt the credibility of the present moment. It felt as though she existed in some sort of mystical dream, but she knew it wasn't. She couldn't even recall the last time she dreamed at night. It was before her brother died, but those dreams were more comedy than fantasy.

When she went back inside, thoughts relating to her brother naturally sprang at her. Why did he have the gall to hide this strange girl? Was he embarrassed by her odd personality? Or could it be that he perhaps wanted to keep her a secret, because he didn't want to share her?

She dug around his desk which had for the most part remained untouched, and pulled out journals- full of sketches and random prose. He had always been the artist, but she was quite impressed by his talent. Nothing was ever made of it though, he lived as an accountant, she thinks. Page upon page was flipped through until she came to a halt.

A man garbed in armor with a glittering sword held aloft called to her. There was no indication of wings, but she was almost certain it was an angel. It was no less detailed than his other drawings, yet she was compelled to admire it. When she turned the page, she was half-stunned to see a super-realistic drawing of Irene. So vividly was her visage captured that she gasped. She was not too surprised because she expected her there.

Irene did have wings. What was strange was the depiction of several moons in the background. Did he love her enough as to make her the protagonist of his story? Would her story be fantasy?

Minutes passed with her attention riveted by the life contained inside Irene's eyes. They were exact replicas but these eyes lacked the power contained within the real ones. She was more human here in this illustration than in the real world.