Forging the Villain

The terrace hung silent over the lake. Stars shivered on the dark water. The November wind bit at Sylvie’s skin, but she did not move. She needed this. The quiet. The dark. The air that smelled like possibility.

Through the glass doors, the house glowed warm. Sadie bent over her books at the kitchen table. Irene moved plates into the dishwasher. The sounds of a normal life. Not hers. Not yet. But