Fate, made to fade (person)
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The awkward hours between evening and late night are reserved for prowling. Any earlier, and she's exiled; any later and she's annexed. But it is now, amid the hustle of the 10 o'clock crowd that she is free to dart at the edges. She slides in and out of society the way a cat moves around corners, so sure of herself but not without caution.
Tonight she's worn black leather. It rained earlier. The shimmer of the streets matches the gloss of her boots. Her elongated stride, confident enough to be noticeable but casual enough to be forgotten. She is like oil on these slick New York sidewalks, gliding just above the surface.
She is made to fade, able to pass in and out of people's lives without the slightest hint of recognition. There are days when she envies those who can sit back and enjoy? the ride. But for the most part, she loves her work and the anonymity of it all.
Everyone knows her name, has felt her touch. She is global, not local. She is without restriction; she is ubiquity. She is walking with purpose down slick black streets, heels clacking methodically along the pavement. She is looking for you. She will find you.