As the streets and buildings diminish, the storm whips her good and proper. To the gods, and those below, she’s almost invisible, but to Gretchen, the fury of her own momentum rages with as much force as the storm. Perhaps even more, for now she’s shooting like a star, and shining brighter than any force on earth. Beaming like the child she is, she thinks about how strange it is that the weather turned so quickly. That it almost seemed to coincide with her splitting in two. She can still feel the other half of her. The warmth of the heater blasting her in waves. She can feel it burning her face. The cookie in her hands no longer in her hands at all but now a melted mess on the carpet between her tiny toes. She reckons that if she were to try and bring herself back, she could do it, but she doesn’t want to. Not yet. No, the light in the forest is calling to her, begging for her to come meet it. Puffing out her cheeks, the billowing winds blow her over the darkened fields beyond the town she calls home. She knows they’re fields, yet they resemble oceans; the long blades of grass rolling like tumultuous waves. Occasionally, she makes out splodges of colour—shapes darting like fireflies amid leafy ripples of near-invisible movement. At first, she doesn’t know what they are, but finally recognises them as horses. She wonders to herself if the storm spooked them, for why else would they be galloping about rather than taking shelter. Then, much like the bullets of rain striking her face, the truth hits her. The horses aren’t panicked at all. Like her, they’re going towards the light. Squinting her eyes, she makes out dozens of them as they mirror her journey to a destination that sings alike to each of their souls.