Antwohnette… the name sounds so familiar, like the memory of dream you can’t remember. The young woman’s extended hand emerges from shadow, a harsh line of darkness slicing across her wrist. “Caliban, come. We’re looking for a new home. I think we may have found it.”
Home.
A vision of golden fields brushes against Caliban’s mind, a fluttering satin curtain in a warm, Spring breeze. “This isn’t home,” Caliban says, almost involuntarily.
Antwohnette’s pale hand slowly recoils into darkness. “Don’t ruin this, fox.” The voice sounds like her, the girl Caliban found in a chance encounter… but what lies beneath is different — sinister.
“I remember. You’re not Antwohnette.”
‘Antwohnette’ grins from ear-to-ear — literally — and her eyes glow a sickly yellow.