She grasped at the words, most of them unfamiliar. It had been a long time since she had used the language, really. The conversation about the bread in the market and the price of pears had not kept them sharp, anyway.
Every one of them was poetry, dripping with half-remembered meanings, the picture they painted all the richer for her lack of memory.
Her fingers traced the words until she remembered, banishing the ghosts with each fingertip, chasing them to the next hazy word.
The Wandering Shop is a Mastodon instance initially geared for the science fiction and fantasy community but open to anyone. We want our 'local' timeline to have the feel of a coffee shop at a good convention: tables full of friendly conversation on a wide variety of topics. We welcome everyone who wants to participate, so long as you're willing to abide by our code of conduct.