“Don’t do it,” she told me, as if she’d read my mind.
“You’ll soon feel better. You’ll also look better. But that’ll take more time,” she said giggling and vanished into thin air.
Behind her fading figure, she appeared. The girl had the old lady’s eyes, only she was much younger.
“I am what’s left of her,” mumbled the ghost of Christmas Future from afar, when the girl reluctantly held my hand. Or was it the wind that whispered in my ear?