I’m Zoe Talbot. I’m the girl who’s always in the library, peeking at from over the top of glasses. I look at those two boys together and think, they should really be together. I start making up stories, in which they are. I look at that tall, imposing woman with the cane and think, she’s really a wizardess. The cane is truly her magical staff, which contains the soul of an enchanted enemy. I look at Rhane Soames, sitting in the corner with her books, and simply think, I wish I had the courage to speak to her. (see ‘R is for Rhane’) Rhane’s hair is the color of wheat and honey. It spills over her shoulders, falling forward to hide her face. I watch, almost hypnotized, as one of her hands pushes a tress away, revealing an eye of perfect, crystal blue. Unaware of any attention, her full lips move, shaping the words on the page in front of her. I often know what she saying, before she’s going to speak. She likes the same books I do, gets absorbed in the very same passages. Often, she comes by the library, when I’m there. My heart always pounds a little harder, when she walks by, but she’s completely unaware of me. Dreamy-eyed, she’s always lost in her own thoughts, often nearly bumping into the stacks, so intent is she on another reality. I watched her, until one day, I did something, which creeped even me out. I followed her, when she left the library. She didn’t notice that I was following her. She walked into a cafe, where this girl was sitting. The girl was wearing pale white foundation and a purple corset, covered by a black lace coat. Her lips were painted bright red, twisting into a sneer at the sight of Rhane. Rhane’s shoulders slumped. All the dreamy intensity I’d spotten in the library left her, as if the other girl had drained it out of her, with a crook of her bony finger. I went up to the counter and ordered a coffee, as Rhane slid into the seat beside the other girl. Her own lips quivered, as if she was too afraid to speak. The other girl reached out a hand to fondle her hair. It wasn’t the gentle touch of a friend, or the caress of a lover. It was an idle gesture of possession. My own hands started quivering, as I took a coffee from a server I didn’t really see. I managed to walk over to a booth next to Rhane and her malevolent mistress, for I couldn’t think of the other girl as anything other than that. Pretending to drink my coffee and read a book I was carrying with me, I listened to their conversation. They were talking about roleplaying games. Yes, I knew what roleplaying games were. I’d been in a few games myself, but I’d disliked the people I was gaming with so much, I’d withdrawn from them. The girl in black lace was called Beatrix. She did most of the talking, hardly giving Rhane a chance to get a word in edgewise. She complained about how there weren’t enough players in the game, players kept leaving, and how it was Rhane’s fault. Rhane didn’t contradict her, not that Beatrix was giving her much of a chance to. On and on, Beatrix droned. On impulse, I stood up, and went over to their table. Beatrix finally shut up at the sight of me to fix me with a glare. I smiled sweetly back, as I introduced myself to Beatrix and Rhane. I said I couldn’t help overhearing that they were looking for players in a roleplaying game. I told them I loved roleplaying games. If they needed players, I’d be happy to join their game, if they’d have me. Beatrix looked me up and down, as if seeing every wrinkle in my shirt, every imperfection in my face. Rhane blinked. Her crystal blue eyes cleared, as they focused on me for the very first time. Being seen by Rhane Soames made being scrutinzed completely worthwhile. Beatrix agreed to let me in the game. I got the impression it wasn’t exactly her game to let me in, but I agreed. Now, I’m meeting both of them, as well as the other players at Beatrix and Rhane’s place. Now, I have an excuse to see Rhane on a regular basis. What will happen next? Well, I don’t know. My author just came up with my character concept, but she’s thinking about how I might fit in ‘The Players Are the Thing’, if she decides to write it. If you’d like my author to write it, please let her know. I myself am curious what’s going to happen next.