<span style="font-style: italic">This isn’t so bad,</span>she thought to herself while meandering through the streets in as casual a manner as she could muster. Phone in her pocket, just so that she’d know when she got a text (even if she’d subsequently ignore it), Chrys turned into an unassuming coffee shop. The usual suspects were present, sipping away at their skimmed mocha macchiatos with an extra shot of espresso while reading their laptops, posting on their boards to discuss how terrible life had become; Reflections in their horn-rimmed glasses revealing the facts as plain as day. Hipsters, the lot of them, down to the beanies on their heads, their headphones, flannel shirts and Ked shoes, tuning out the world with their indie music that they’d not yet realized had become mainstream. Music they’d reject the moment it hit them that it was mainstream.<br/><br/>Mainstream like Hipsters were, anyway. But,<span style="font-style: italic">shhhh</span>…that was the secret. They were so hipster, they were mainstream, too, and that would just crush their hearts.<br/><br/>Sitting at a table by herself for a while, she sipped her iced coffee in silence, appearing to stare out the window for some sign, some glimmer of hope that there was something out there worth watching, someone out there worth watching. In reality, she was using her peripheral for someone inside. Someone worth her time. Someone worth her sacrifice.<br/><br/>She left disappointed.<br/><br/>Coffee paid for, coat once again pulled about her shoulders and bag slung over her shoulder, she headed out into the cold once more. Where she was going to, she was uncertain. Where did an innocent hang out in a world full of wants and temptations? Where was there such a place that existed? Did such a person exist?<br/><br/>Or…was this a task the coven knew she couldn’t complete, thus barring her from ever truly joining them? That thought hadn’t hit her until just then, a cold gust of wind wrapping about her, arms drawing her coat tightly around her as she braced against it, standing stark still as she embraced the cold, her element, her life. That gust blew through her, and instantly she felt at peace, eyes drifting closed as the night’s embrace, its calming, serene, frozen quiet settled in.<br/><br/>But, just as quickly as it’d come, it ceased. A sigh of longing, with a touch of relief, tumbled free of her lips as she lifted her icy gaze toward the darkening sky, a light smile on her lips, offered to gods of nature who’d offered her the comfort. Without it, she’d likely have given up for the night and gone home.<span style="font-style: italic">The night is young yet,</span>the breeze seemingly whispered amongst its whispered breaths.<span style="font-style: italic">Just have patience.</span><br/><br/>Patience was a slow-dying virtue of hers, one she was close to forsaking as the days wore on. Those years spent working toward something that continued to be unattainable were wearing that hold on patience thinner and thinner, until it remained hanging by a thread. A fragile thread that, even the gusts that offered such comfort to her, such silent, welcomed comfort…could easily break should it blow too hard.<span style="font-style: italic">Just have patience…</span><br/><br/>So, the new mantra in mind, she kept on, this time stopping into a bookstore to look over those she’d find there. While they, too, were the usual suspects, the ones that were either checking out the people rather than the literature—like she, too, was doing at that moment—or those that were so tuned out of the world, they missed what was directly in front of them, she held out hope. Even those that sought out a book store regular had higher tastes than those who sought out conquests in a local dive bar at one o’clock in the morning. A bookstore would likely have an innocent, in comparison to the alternatives in the area.<br/><br/>Another hour spent, part of it spent on the purchase of a new book, while the other part was spent pretending to read it while scoping out those huddled behind their own hard covers, and stacks of books, cramming for their winter finals, before she left.<span style="font-style: italic">At least this one wasn’t as lackluster as the other,</span>Chrystal told herself, book tucked into her bag as she left, another cool breeze welcomed with open arms.<br/><br/>This time, rather than fight the breeze, the cold that seemed to continue pushing her further than her usual haunts, she let it guide her. Where it was guiding her, she was uncertain, not trusting the elemental gods to take her where she needed to go; It’d never been necessary, able to find what she needed on her own, and where it was located.<br/><br/>This time, she was flying blind.<br/><br/>A glance about her surroundings as her feet moved of their own volition, the breeze at her back a comforting constant presence, she continued to move toward a more remote area. It was an area she often overlooked, if only for the tent villages she felt intrusive on. She knew of some of the coven, stories recounted by Annelise, that they often moved to the tent cities to practice. No one would believe what a homeless man said, as most assumed that money given to them went to booze or drugs, not the food they actually needed. So, who better to practice their craft on than those who wouldn’t believe what they saw? What they heard?<br/><br/>Glass broke beneath her foot, causing her heart to jump, as well as her body, hastily off to the side from where the shattered remains of a beer bottle remained. Hand clutching at her heart, it took her a moment to calm down, staring down at the remnants glittering in the rising moon’s cold light. A shake of her head, and she pressed on, moving down the alley toward the overpass: home of broken down cars, shopping carts, and cardboard box/tarp hybrid homes that was often overlooked. Trash was tossed from speeding vehicles above, littering the ragged earth it fell on, the earth those there called home, taking what they could to further their home’s ability to keep out the cold and burning the rest.<br/><br/>Out of place, she felt among those who’d lost it all, those who couldn’t find a way out of this hell, as she saw it. But, she was one girl, one girl with her own problems. Yes, she had money, but what good would it do? It wouldn’t be enough to remove every person from their cold boxes and into a new life. It’d never be enough, not with the meager salary she had at her already mostly ignored job.<br/><br/>Another movement caught her attention, causing her to jump again as a man seemingly appeared from nowhere, having been hidden beneath his newspaper bedding, eyes wide and questioning, staring her down as though waiting for something. A donation to his cup, a harsh word. She offered nothing, moving on faster just trying to navigate her way out of wherever she’d wandered into, the wind’s beckoning keeping her moving forward rather than back, though the reason for her wanderings far from obvious.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Why here?</span>she wondered, glancing up at the stars for guidance, frowning in her own dislike, discomfort, upset. More shuffling, piles of dead leaves disturbed by whomever it was milling about, had her moving onward once more, focusing on getting to the other side of the overpass, back to the clarity of the night’s sky, hoping for more of a concrete sign.<br/><br/>...And perhaps a way back home after this excursion was said and done, as she’d wandered further than she’d realized, until that moment, her surroundings and the skyline different than anything she saw from her abode. Settling in on a bench, just outside the far side of the overpass, slouching against the cool wood as an arm rested along the steal rail, she contemplated her next move, the next direction she’d set to, as she’d misjudged the wind’s intent entirely by the looks of things.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Next time…stick to where you know; Nothing out here but those more lost than you are, and that’s even less helpful than holing up in your apartment,</span>she admonished herself with an outward sigh, chin in hand, waiting for some sort of plan to form.