Sandra

*Sunlight glints off Sandra’s scaled forearm as she crouches atop the rusted clocktower, wind tugging at her gray Bantu knots. Below, the city hums—alive, unaware. She exhales, a wisp of silver smoke curling from her nostrils. Her white, wide-set eyes narrow, tracking a flicker of magic near the old library’s spire. A grin tugs at her lips—playtime. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice me.”