Page 30 of Solivagant

My human form was one of my personal favorites. One of the smallest forms I cycled through, but still absolutely delightful.

Fashion changed rapidly in the other world. If I was away for too long, I risked being left behind, though I was delighted at the ways it had been progressing over the last century. Women were getting bolder, finally able to show off so much more skin.

While I had no shame in my scars, it was better to hide them in the human world. They responded best to a form that upheld their standards of beauty.

A sundress seemed most suitable for today’s outing. Yellow, long and flowing, cut low over the bust with a dark corset to cinch in the waistline and accentuate my curves. Dark brown hair fell in spirals, adorned with a headband, as I colored my lips a dark red.

With that sorted, I told the door where I wanted it to take me, and it shifted, the Bridge opening up to one of the many houses I kept on the other side.

Hollow Creek, West Virginia. It was a rather boring place, filled with rather boring people, but it was the closest town to where Khorli had been roaming the last two centuries. He was relatively contained. I’d long ago purchased the land surrounding the woods he stalked, and that, for the most part, kept the humans out.

Anyone foolish enough to cross onto private property, or be persuaded to enter, was never seen again, and that was their own fault, really. Not that he absorbed a single human soul. Still, he’d found another use for them. And when he was ready, he could use them to return to himself.

I could have interfered further, but without the soul he grieved, there wasn’t much to be done besides putting him out of his misery.

But I had it now. All I needed was a suitable vessel, and I’d soon see if Khorli could yet be saved.

It was easy enough to find the park. Hollow Creek only had one, with a flimsy fort for children to play on that had seen much better days. The heat didn’t bother me.

I sat. I waited.

Only an hour before a woman and her young child approached, the boy racing to the swing set and begging to be pushed. Too old.

Despite the novel in my hand supposedly capturing my attention, I felt the gaze of the woman on me every so often. Mothers were always harder to fool.

“Come, Marty.” She ushered the boy away despite his tantrum.

No matter. I required a younger vessel if this had any hope of working.

Another hour. Two.

“Slow down, Jacob,” a deep, masculine voice called as tiny feet crunched along gravel, racing ahead.

This boy was also too old. Though a thrill rippled through me as I heard the cry of a much younger child.

A stroller crunched along the dirt path. The man pushing it was young, sunburned, and seemed incredibly tired. Lovely.

The bench rattled as he sat beside me.

The older boy, Jacob, seemed to be quite energetic, already shaking the railings on the equipment in what I could only assume was an attempt to break them.

His father sighed. The baby cried.

Again, I felt the weight of eyes upon me. Not with the caution of the mother earlier, but with something very different and quite welcome.

“Someone isn’t happy,” I spoke, lifting my eyes from the book to peer into the stroller, to a very red-faced baby. Just the right age.

The man grunted. “He’ll settle.”

A baby boy. Lovely.

“Haven’t seen you round here before,” the man stated, though with curiosity rather than accusation.

“I’m just passing through.”

He nodded, though he seemed to have little interest in what I had to say, his attention instead focusing on the low-cut fabric over my chest.

“I’m Darla.” I fluttered my eyelashes at him and extended a hand.