Home again.

Could a place feel like home to one that had near felt lost in her wanderings.

In the snow her boots had left a trail that carried nor possessed bread crumbs.

Perhaps it was time she lost her way and did not look back.

A hand moved through the Goldilocks curls of gold as the ghost blues shifted and moved over the places long since left behind but far from forgotten.

She of course had to return to the burnt remains of the Doll Maker's home.

Under all that snow and within the mist and fog she could not see any of what she remembered.

Her mind's eye gave her enough.

Fingertips lifted, curled around that wolf head pendant at her throat. A stroke of thumb along the rough metal.

After all this time gone, who would remain... more so... who might have returned?

Followed in her foot steps?

Sometimes bread crumbs and even rabbit holes were not needed when there were others on your trail.

In all that grey and white it reminded her of one left behind.

The Albino.

A turn on heel and she moved swiftly through the forest, fluid grace in the snow she was.

To that box of left behind secrets. Freed from snow and memories.

Tucked in the satchel where other memories remained.

Twin spheres nestled amongst that gathering of memories.

One of midnight blue and raven black.

The other of crimson and hematite.

The gypsy had given the Dancer omens within those spheres.

A reminder that no matter how much you burned away your life... memories would not fly away with the ashes in the wind... and some of the past... would not remain dead.

If they ever had been dead at all.