There was, Ottilie thought with some amusement, something about preferring to try crazy, impossible things at night. Whether it was because one felt protected by the darkness might be up for debate. But in this particular case, night-time was when she actually had time to herself. She’d cleared out the last of the unsold product for the day and bagged it up nicely, ready to run it by one of the local shelters that lay along the path out to the park. Instinct had already warned her against experimenting anywhere near her place of work or home. As she locked the doors of the cafe, she took a deep breath of the cool, damp air and allowed herself to simply exist for a moment. She liked these little moments of stillness that fell between all the bustle. But, she wondered, will I still have this if it turns out I wasn’t crazy and imagining things? Surely the quiet moments wouldn’t cease to exist if it turned out she really was two people! She wouldn’t let that happen…

Giving herself a shake, she adjusted her grip on the bags holding her donations of food and hurried off. She knew precisely which shelter she wanted. They’d had such a lovely little booth at the last Renaissance Fest! Of course they’d only been able to give out information and cheap trinkets and favors, but Ottilie had liked that they’d been willing to try something different to make people aware of their cause. And she’d given them a hefty donation of cash at the time. And some people might have considered that enough. But not her Grand-mere.

And not me, she thought grimly. Take these bags of bread and cake and baked goodness. She could have simply tossed it out before leaving. It wouldn’t have survived the week she was taking off from the cafe. And some people might have been okay with that much wasted food. Again, she thought, not me. Wasting food had been a nearly unforgivable sin growing up. It was better to give it away to those who would enjoy and benefit from it than to let it sit and rot. As she walked, she allowed herself to hum softly, feeling quite righteous and pleased with herself. And by the time she reached the shelter and passed the bags over to the very grateful indeed volunteers, Ottilie had already painted herself as a romantic heroine, feeding and succoring those in need. She’d even promised to bring more food later. And then, she was tripping off into the night, spirit light and airy.

By the time she reached the park, her mood was good enough to hold back any worrisome thoughts. She’d simply find a nice, quiet little corner and see if she could make anything happen. If the answer was no, then she’d clearly suffered from a case of wrought nerves that had produced a vivid hallucination. In fact, she was feeling so pleased with herself that she was already half convinced that this would be the case and she was making a mental note to find a nice therapist to speak with in the morning.

But when she sat down in the dew-damp grass and let herself follow that little inner path, she felt a trickle of warmth that flowed out from her heart until she was fairly cocooned in it. And when the warmth faded and she opened her eyes, immediately noting the change in appearance and letting out a little cry of dismay before muttering under her breath, “Oh, putain d'enfer!”

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