She was walking through a narrow alley.
Rain sleeted down on the buildings to either side, on the concrete beneath her feet, down on her back, through her hair.
Then, before an open door, she heard a voice.
A voice like gravel, saying, "You. The girl who walks in the shoes of a monster. She who becomes the monster she walks as."
But on the girl walked. Kept her head down. Walking.
Thinking of those things was not good. Thinking of those monsters was not good.
But then she passed a building with an open window. A voice.
A voice like a seasoned pianist. "You. The girl who walks in the shoes of a nightmare. You. She who becomes the nightmare she lives in."
But on she plowed. Kept her pace even.
Thinking of those things was not good. Not of those nights.
Then she passed a building. And heard a voice from the drain
A voice like trickling rain. "You. The girl who walks in the shoes of an illusion. You. The girl who becomes an illusion."
But on the girl marched.
For illusions could still be seen.
Then she was stopped. In the middle of her path was a man.
He wore black, and she could not make out his features. He said, "You. The girl who walks in the shoes of invisibility. You, who have become invisible."
No longer did the girl plow on.
But even if she did, no one would see. For she was invisible.
She had chosen to wear the shoes.
But others had chosen her fate.