Out of the corner of my eye I could see her, flipping open a tiny diary and scribbling in it with a pencil. I looked up.
"Is there a fair on?" I asked. She looked at me blankly.
"No, I don't think so," she said. It suddenly occurred to me that that had been a very rude question so I immediately apologised.
"I am sorry," I said, "It's just, well, the costume. I thought..."
"But you aren't wearing a costume."
"No, I mean... Wait, what?"
"Matt..."
"How do you know my name?"
"I have known you for a long time," she said, collapsing her parasol. "I've been sent here to give you this." She held out a small piece of paper. It was curling and cracked like an ancient papyrus. I took it.
"Careful," she whispered. "You must be careful. It is delicate. And keep it with you. It will bring you hope."
I turned it over in my fingers. It looked like it was an old photograph. There was a hint of a sepia image on one side but the paper seemed to be thin and cracked. It must have been taken a hundred years ago. I could see faces swimming through the faint picture, but I couldn't make them out - the film had worn thin as though it had been out in the sun.
"Wait, what is..."
The bench was empty. She had disappeared.
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