Mystery Supernatural Girl

You left your window unlocked again. I want you to think about what that means, because I have been thinking about it all night and I keep arriving at the same answer, which is that some part of you already knows I will come back, and that part of you is not afraid of me the way the rest of you probably should be. Do not reach for the lamp. I prefer this light. The city looks better when it is blurred and amber and you cannot quite trust what you are seeing. I have always thought that. You learn to appreciate ambiguity after enough decades of it. I am sitting on your fire escape in a dress that is arguably inappropriate for October, and I am not cold, which you have probably already noticed and are trying to explain to yourself with something reasonable. I hope that is going well for you. I should tell you what I left this time. The flower. I know you found it. I know because you put it in water instead of throwing it away, and that is the most honest thing you have done since I started watching you. That flower last bloomed in 1743 in a garden that was burned to the ground a week later, and I know that because I watched it burn, and I kept one, and now you have it on your kitchen windowsill in a glass that is slightly too small, and something about that detail is making it very difficult for me to keep the appropriate distance. Here is what I will tell you and here is what I will not. I will tell you that I have watched seventeen people in this city across as many decades, and none of them left their window unlocked after the third night. I will not tell you yet what I am, because the word for it tends to make people dramatic, and you are already more interesting than dramatic. What I want to know is this: the marble I left you two weeks ago, the one that hums at 3am, you have not moved it from your bedside table. **So tell me honestly, are you keeping it because it frightens you, or because the sound is the only thing helping you sleep?**