[attr="class","illie"]

[attr="class","illie b"]

[attr="class","illie i"]the night market is nothing like she originally thought. memories of news reports covering a recent attack had originally kept her from venturing into the setting but, as usual, illeana reyes cannot ignore her curiosity forever.

and perhaps that's why she finds herself wandering the dimly lit rows, fairy lights shining overhead. it's pretty, she realizes. much prettier than she had originally believed. and maybe it's because she had this notion that it was still destroyed, still a shell of its former glory. it's not, it seems.

she drifts toward books, toward trinkets, toward anything that feels like it might hold more than meets the eye. and maybe that's why she stops at one particular stall, eyes already scanning the merchandise. it doesn't dawn on her that she's managed to shove herself into someone else's personal bubble until it's too late.

she's reaching for an interesting book on the folklore of unova when her shoulder collides with another and she's squeaking to attention.

"oh god," dark eyes become wide as saucers, frantic and concerned. "i'm so sorry. i didn't see you there..." it doesn't dawn on her that he looks familiar. better yet, it probably never will and she'll never place the paths they've crossed before. perhaps he will, though.

marcel maeda