A crowded park soaks in the sun on a day like any other, sand kicked onto the footpath causing young Amelia to scoff like the kids aren't half her age. The girl finds herself alone as usual, as she prefers if anybody should bother to ask and yet none ever do. It isn't that she's a particularly unapproachable person, she's just good at going unnoticed. In this crowded park, on this saccharine summer's day, the college student resists the urge to bite her nails in mounting frustration that grips her from every angle. Even with the entirety of this spacious bench to herself, bookbag spread over it so thoughtlessly, Amelia finds herself traversing a sea of troubles and she's certainly no sailor. Another week of failing to start her dissertation and she'll consider switching to one from student, figuring she might fare better on the open sea without scrap of land in sight to tie her down. 

It's an entertaining prospect, but maybe Amelia likes being tied down, she always considers herself to produce her best work under pressure and so she awaits deadline confidently. This is what she tells herself, that she's simply cooking and the oven clock's yet to ring in those pale ears, but then the urge to wear her nails down with chattering teeth bubbles to the surface again. Perhaps she's on a stove, then? 

Sitting there, the only one oblivious to the sun's generous rays, Amelia reads passively and escapes into the realms of fiction. Most would find it difficult to lose themselves in a good book while the park's overbearing bustle assaults both ears so ceaselessly, but the young woman invites it, letting all fade into background noise that sets the scene playing out on paper before her. A crowded park in her world becomes the backdrop to the fictional one in her hand, so easily she can manipulate it into something befitting her wants. Take the two college freshmen sitting on the bench across from her, over trails of sand and swings, gossiping for almost an hour now about such excruciatingly mundane affairs. Those voices become a pair of merchants in ink dried streets, discussing new tariffs from the corrupt king who rules over this land. It's so easy to ignore the truth and convince yourself of new reality, a ring of fantasy, Amelia finds herself in a form of trance sitting here letting another unproductive day pass her by with a jeer and a wink. 

Time flows on and the sun slowly moves to other parks, too distant for Amelia to follow on her paltry budget. The girl does not watch as people filter out of the park with each wave of the hours hand, but listens. Silence comes at long last and just in time for her to call curtains on her reading for the day. When the book lowers and Amelia's eyes trace up that disturbed stretch of sand, she can only blink in shock at the sight that greets her on the other side.

Those gossiping students she had borrowed voice from for her background cast yet linger, sitting on the same bench they had spent the past several hours warming. Only... Amelia remembers those voices fading out a long while prior, at least two hours by her account. The girl sets down her book and scratches unbitten nail over dark brown hair. Whipping her head left and right to see if anybody else remains in the park at dusk, she confirms that only the college girls remain and leans forward to inspect them without concern over how she looks. If she's to appear strange for doing this then the three of them will have something else to share in common, thinks Amelia wryly. 

Both of them are dressed casually, trendy clothes that would not typically turn her head until her eyes trace the chokers. No, collars, thick black leather that stands out like sore thumb when viewing them in this light. Even more curious is their blank gazes, staring out past Amelia and her own stiff bench. The two must have been sitting there, expressionless and silent, for hours now. Without turning her eyes away, lest the spell breaks and she finds an empty bench or perhaps a pair of normal girls once more, Amelia reaches into her bag and retrieves her notepad. Amelia clicks her pen's ballpoint into place and she attempts to sketch those unexplained looks as best she can. Not that anything is truly unexplainable, Amelia knows this. Most people would race over to check if the girls are on drugs, check to see if they need help. It's as much something to scoff at as that kicked up sand from earlier in the day, just a triviality to someone so disconnected. Perhaps she's struggling to find topic for her dissertation because nothing can ever hold her interest, as above-it-all as she makes herself to rationalise the executive dysfunction, but now this is something which holds her attention. 

As Amelia's eyes flick between paper and petrified pair, she begins to note down every eccentricity of the unlikely scene before her. Those black collars that don't match their outfits. The way their eyes stare out into nothing as though consciousness eludes them. The softly parted lips, drool which cascades down their chins and reflects twilight in picturesque manner. They look like a pair of dolls left and forgotten by their owner, unable to get up and walk home by themselves. And yet they were so lifelike earlier, grating voices so bothersome they needed to be given purpose in Amelia's immersive reading. 

Sound finally and abruptly fills the silent scene and has Amelia startled enough to look up from her notes in a panic, like she fears being caught studying the women in front of her instead of rushing to help them. The girl can't help it, she's simply wired this way. As her eyes scan for the source of the approaching footsteps to her left, she catches sight of a figure, indiscernible in their long black coat and stingy brim hat. Their footsteps fall onto the path on which the dolls' bench lies, though they never pass threshold and block those raptured stares from Amelia's attentive viewing. 

Now she's as fascinated by the figure as she is the girls, however. Like her, the silhouetted person does not find themselves in any rush to check if the two are okay. Likely just an old man on a walk... it's not like inaction is particularly uncommon with those who do not want the trouble, but then why have they stopped for so long? Amelia begins to jot down notes again. At least she's managed to write today after all, the girl thinks bitterly.

Her interest is piqued to new heights when the stranger lifts their arm and a hand coated in black fitted leather snaps its fingers so soundly that even Amelia hears it from across the sand. Both collared women blink several times as they register the sound, turning towards one another as each takes hold of the other's waist slowly. Before Amelia can process what she's seeing, both girls are leaning close to share long, passionate kiss. Still in their apparent state of trance, the college freshmen coat the insides of each other's mouths like it's a competition, a never ending power struggle that appears all too orchestrated. 

At long last, Amelia bites her nails. When the girl scrambles to shove books back into her open bag, the paperback she had been enjoying earlier slips between her hastily clamouring fingers and drops onto the ground. The silhouette turns and Amelia catches the outline of a smile. A shark toothed grin. Amelia's eyes are glued to the stranger's even if she cannot quite make them out, the two mirroring one another in swift motion as she reaches to pick up her book while the enigmatic figure reaches and unclasps the closet girl's collar. The uncollared girl does not even seem to notice, too preoccupied with the wrestling muscles in her mouth. 

Quickly stuffing her bag, Amelia watches with rapt interest as the silhouette drops that removed collar onto the ground in front of the bench and snaps their fingers again. Both girls forget one another entirely and pull away, not thinking to wipe their spit-soaked faces. They stand in unison and follow from a distance when their apparent commander whisks them off like pied piper. With a long sigh, Amelia sits frozen in place for a while after they leave her sight, wondering if fantasy spilled out of her pages as she recklessly flipped through them. For the first time in hours the girl checks her phone and sees single notification, remembering she had plans other than wasting her entire day reading in the park.

can't meet today after all. too much on my mind. sorry, charlotte. 

Amelia rolls her eyes and wishes she hadn't bothered checking. The collar catches her attention again, as though it ever really left, and Amelia cuts straight through the sand while looking over her shoulder intermittently. Fingers curl into the leather. Still warm. The studious girl flips it over in her hand and like a pet's collar it has contact information written in neat cursive that almost makes her laugh. Just what has she stumbled onto here? Maybe she needs to find out... in fact, that could be exactly what she needs. 

As the longest dusk of her life dies out and she stares out of her bedroom window into starry night, Amelia runs her thumb over the now cooled leather and sighs again. Come morning, she's already decided on skipping classes again, dialling an otherworldly number into her phone without affording herself time to reconsider. Regrets can come later, everything in its right place.