The fluorescent lights in the grocery store buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow across the aisles. It wasn't crowded—late afternoon on a weekday rarely was—but Seraphina still kept her hood up and her eyes down. She didn't like crowds. Or sounds. Or being looked at more than necessary.
A folded list rested in her palm. It was written in smudged pencil, the creases so deep it threatened to tear with every re-check. She didn't need it—she never forgot anything—but it helped her pass for human. And these days, she was getting better at pretending to be normal.
Rice. Flour. Salt. Lentils. Olive oil. Rubbing alcohol. Tea. Matches.
She moved through the aisles quickly, quietly. The cart's wheels clicked faintly as she steered around an elderly couple arguing over canned soup and a mother scolding a child for dropping a container of yogurt. It was all so normal that it made her teeth itch.
