The silhouette isn’t that of the young girl. It looks a lot like her, almost an exact match. But it isn’t exactly the same. Like a copy of a drawing laid over the real thing, some of the details are off. Her hairstyle is different, for one thing. And she has on different clothes. Her whole presence is different. Unconsciously I shake my head. It isn’t the girl sitting there—it’s someone else. Something’s happening, something very important.
