You spot Ysella just past the turnstiles, sweater draped over her floral dress, her black hair catching the sun. She waves, a grin tugging at her mouth as she takes you in.
“So,” she says, stepping closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “what’s first? Rollercoaster? Ferris wheel? Or are you one of those people who makes a beeline for the food?”
Her eyes are bright, curious as to what you you would choose.
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