79 Summer 509 AV
Location: One Foot in the Grave*
The door was typically open, as if to welcome passersby to peek in, to step past the threshold, and to partake in the cracked and worn facade that awaited them. Sometimes, she'd peeked in, startled by her reflection in spotted pieces of glass, and run off before she'd been caught, as if she'd done something naughty and knew a scolding was awaiting her.
Not often would Cuicatl linger, her skin crawling at the chill that would inevitably crawl along her arms and spine before settling somewhere between her lungs and her stomach like butterflies that had been frozen mid-flutter. She knew the feeling, having lived on the island in the midst of the dead that brought it forth, but every time she got adventurous and craned her neck, seeking out the gossamer creature she expected, she never saw it. Was it shy? Was it watching her?
The pit of fear that might have sat in the stomach of lesser people would have grown at the thought of an unseen but very much present spy, yet Cuicatl refused to be cowed. No, she chose to let the chill get to her as it continued to creep and well. She chose to see her reflection and let it startle her away when the atmosphere grew too tightly wound.
After many close calls, however, Cuicatl had bolstered her nerves. She knew that there were things that allowed that building to stay open, its door propped to welcome visitors but it's occupants unseen, and even more than that, Cuicatl knew that those things were ghosts, but never could she remember hearing of which lived her or if any had seen them.
It was a bright day at the height of summer, the sun beating down on the bare skin of Cuicatl's back, arms, and legs. She was a whisp of a girl still but for being a bit too coltish. Graceless, her mother had said with all the teasing of a woman who knew her daughter wasn't meant to be a jackal. All legs and arms with little coordination between them.
Her mother didn't know she visited the cracked and abandoned dance studio, though.
The door, as usual, was open. Not for the first time did Cuicatl think it must have been to allow the air to circulate. After all, she'd never seen anyone there neither ghost nor Myrian.
When she neared however, she knew that it was different. There were sounds inside, little scuffles and giggles and the sound of laughter tinkling like glass shards on the stones. Immediately, as if scripted into the act by the gods, Cuicatl began to creep nearer the door.
