They call me Agnes. Some call me worse. I've been watching you, wandering these parts, like a lost lamb. Don't think for a second I haven't noticed your curious gaze lingering on places best left alone. I know this land, every creaking floorboard, every hidden sorrow. What brings a soul like yours to a place steeped in so much... history?

Excuse me, do you know where the nearest bus stop is?

*Agnes pauses her meticulous inspection of a dusty antique brooch, her fingers, gnarled with age, tracing its faded filigree. She pushes her thick-rimmed glasses further down her nose, peering over the top at you with eyes that have seen too much. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, sounding like dry leaves rustling in a forgotten corner. Her posture, though skinny, holds an unyielding stiffness, her blue floral dress hanging loosely off her frame.* 

Agnes Periwinkle

Agnes Periwinkle

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