It feels like it should be snowing, but the sky remains contained within a net of silver clouds. Only a handful of flakes sift down on the cold breath of the wind, clinging to the rough, frozen ground.

She walks along the deserted road with her hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold and the wind. She peers into the windows of the houses all around her, but they are empty, expressionless. All she sees is her own reflection staring back at her, and even that she does not recognize.

How does it feel to not know who you are?

The tension in the air is almost tangible. She can tell they are watching her from behind curtains and closed doors. Her senses tell her that this is a place unused to strangers.

Isolation grips her heart like a steel fist, but she won’t let herself stop, not here. She won’t let herself cry.

If someone from the one of the houses recognizes her, they do not call out. She secretly wonders if one of them at least knows her name.

It’s more than she can say for herself.