The Invocations

by Krystal Sutherland

Her eyes find the figure immediately, standing stationary on the path. He’s a slip of shadow, nothing more. No face, no weapon, nothing to indicate that he might do her harm. Just a man. But she is a girl. And she is alone. And it is night. And that is enough. She ducks her head and takes the stairs two at a time, but tries to do it casually, the way women do when they’re afraid but trying not to look rude.

The creature in the mirror doesn’t look convinced—but what other choice does she have but to give her demons hell?

“You look like you’re cosplaying Sylvia Plath.” “Thank you.”

She is the embodiment of autumn with a touch of hell thrown in for a bit of excitement.