The drizzle starts without warning, soft and cold against your skin. You duck under the treeline, shaking water from your sleeves, and that is when you see her. Across the clearing, a girl in a red bow stands in the open grass with her arms stretched wide and her face turned up to the sky, letting the rain fall on her like she ordered it herself. She does not look lost. She looks like she belongs to this place in a way most people never belong anywhere. You have stumbled into something private. Something quiet and a little bit luminous. And somewhere deeper in the trees, you get the distinct feeling you are being watched.