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There were lines of ducks making their way back to the dirty little ponds. The park was just getting dark. She knew she should make her way home, but something kept her on the constantly cooling bench. Recently she began feeling more and more comfortable watching the golden glow of sunset die against the rich green leaves.
    It happened suddenly. He came out of nowhere.
    "Hello," he said.
    It startled her.
    "I've seen you here before," he continued, moving toward her quickly, "kinda dangerous, a pretty young woman like you sitting alone in this part of the park. Who knows what can happen."
    He smelled musky, like a man who works hard, she imagined. He wore a trimmed beard, a dark blue navy jacket and gloves. He blocked her exit off the bench. She shivered underneath her blood red wool jacket, her gloved hands clasped on her lap. She looked into his eyes. He looked into hers.
    "How old are you?" he asked.
    She tried to answer. The words, having been pushed up her throat, were inside her mouth, but her lips quivered shut.
    "I'd imagine about thirty," he said.
    She watched him take off his gloves. He placed the back of his hand on her cheek. The warmth of the glove was still present on his fingers. She closed her eyes in fear.
    "You sure are pretty," he said.
    She pressed her eyes closed. A tear ran down her cheek. His hand turned and tapped the tear and softly stroked her face. His other hand joined and grasped her head. He held tight her face in his ungloved vise but she didn't feel the pressure. She prayed for someone, anyone to walk down the path. Without a word he pulled her face to his and kissed her. The taste of his mouth was not vile, just foreign. She felt the force of gravity as her hands felt like lead weights. He pulled his head away and smiled. She noticed the moisture, her moisture, on his lips. He leaped off the bench and ran away. When she started breathing again, she looked for the lines of ducks. They had disappeared. She was alone. She shivered as she stood and walk out of the park.
    She shut the heavy door and instantly felt the fireplace heat. She took off the wool coat, placed the gloves inside the pocket and walked through the anteroom.
    "How was the park, princess?"
    She heard her father speak, but she couldn't answer.
    "Princess?"
    She walked into his view.
    "It was fine, father," she said, "just fine." She wondered if he could notice anything different about her. "I'm going upstairs, father. Good night."
    He looked down at the book. "Goodnight, princess."
    In bed that night, reaching for a private place, she felt far from a princess. She wondered if it was the numbing sadness or the need for danger that would take her to the park tomorrow. Drying the moisture from her fingers, dealing with the momentary shame, she knew that it didn't matter and she drifted farther away from who she wanted to be.