Natasha stood on the wooden floor of the subway station, turning around, her hair spiking out of its tying.

The trains came and went, but she stood there, alone. There was something in the lights, something in the dark blue walls and the yellow-lit floors that filled her up like no woman could; Something about her lonely standing, right in front of the tracks, as the colours around her flooded her senses, interrupted by no one. Another train flared its lights. Natasha stood against its wind.

And that train, too, passed.