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<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><b>London, 1852</b><br/>
<br/>
“Well, I’m sure there is no shortage of work we could find for you to do if you’re in need of it” She offered, oddly pleased at the idea. She could not reason why it was she was pleased that he may stay longer given she did not know him in the slightest according to him. Even if they did have acquaintances, she’d never taken a vested interest in anyone else that had come to work for them before then, and for good reason.  But no one else ever sat with her in the grass as if they were already friends when they had no reason to be, much less speak. Didn’t he care for the differences in their station or the trouble he'd risked causing for them both? She had a million reasons why she should leave and yet she could not convince herself of a single one.  She was too intrigued by this strange situation to leave it now, before she figured out where it went and what it meant. Maybe he just wanted something he thought she might have the power to give.<br/>
<br/>
For that thought she was apprehensive of his hand when he extended it towards her. Her eyes were uncertain as they shifted from hand to face, but grew more sure once both their gazes met. She dropped clovers in her lap and leaned into the space between to place her hand in his ever so carefully. “My name is Adelaide.” <br/>
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Then there was the sound of footsteps on the path again and she yanked her hand back before they barely had  the chance to touch. “I’m sorry- I should be going now but it was nice to meet you.” She said all at once, gathering her skirts and rising to her feet. She smiled at him sheepishly then hurried for the path and this time it was her mother’s steps.<br/>
<br/>
There was a frown on the woman’s face when she noted the stains on lace but she did not notice the man in the grass only a few feet away. Adelaide was glad for it, so when her mother said “Dear god child, why must you always look as if you’ve been rolling in the dirt everytime you go out to the gardens?” She only laughed and closed her hands behind her back. Her palms felt hot enough they must have been bright red. <br/>
<b><br/>
Paris, 1962</b><br/>
<br/>
She was sure in her steps leading their direction while a hand flitted back and forth from her lips, orange embers glow between fingertips and then there was smoke again. The air still felt wet and heavy from the rain and she liked the weight it added to her lungs. It made her body feel more rooted to the earth when her head flet half stuck in a dream. Was that what this was? Was she sleeping?<br/>
<br/>
“You look like a David.” She wasn’t watching the people that passed them on the street. She hardly registered that they were even there, too focused on him and her own thoughts. She almost walked straight into the couple he dodged but paused in her step when hand touched her back and corrected her path. The connection felt too real for sleep. She could touch the ember just to check… but she flicked it away into a drain like his instead. <br/>
<br/>
“I think all the best games allow for at least three.” She suggested, collecting herself and continuing on their path. She found she missed the contact of his hand once it was gone but distracted herself with the thought of names that start with D. She compiled a list in her head and held each against him to see what fit. “Hm…” She took her time to think.<br/>
“Damien?- wait no! Daniel.” This time she felt more sure, she didn’t know why but it fit him. They were at least two thirds of the way to their destination. </span></div>