She nearly disappeared so quickly it was like she was never there, but for scent of her perfume. I knew it was her. All those years, and she still wore sweet almond oil. She was the only woman I knew who wore it.

I followed the scent, staying well back, not wanting her to see me; not yet. Oh, she thought she was safe. She thought I'd forgotten her, or moved on. She thought that now, in this new city of millions, I would not find her.

She was wrong. I have followed her. Every step she took, I was behind her. Every breath she took, I smelled it. Every word she spoke, I knew it. Every beat of her heart echoed in my own breast.

I caught sight of her again. She never could blend in. She was too beautiful, too exotic. Her hair was too bright, her face too delicate. Everywhere she went people stared.

She thinks she's going home. In a way, she is.

I pull the rag out of my pocket and soak it in the ether and creep up behind her as she turns to the alley that leads to the back door of her little apartment above the book shop. I grab her shoulder and cover her dainty mouth with the rag.

She fights. She sees me. Her eyes grow wide.

I smile.

You don't get to leave, woman.