A short story, I guess, but I don't know where I'm going with this. Please comment and add to the lore.

Sometimes, she just stands there. Tall and lanky and underfed-looking, with her palms pointed toward the sky as though she expects it to rain at any moment. She looks... ready. As though anything could happen at any moment and she would instantly flee. I'd almost think she were a statue or some weird performance artist if she weren't looking. Directly at me.

The first time I saw her, I almost thought she was a shadow. The darkness of the bar swallowed her whole, but her body stood still as everything danced around her. Apparatuses of people making out. Going to the bathroom to piss. Going to the bathroom to fuck. She looked out of place. Like something out of a dream you desperately try to forget. Her collarbone peeked through her skin like a sad rosary of pearls trying to escape her skin. She was initially beautiful, I will admit, in an off kilter way. I didn't realize she was real until she pointed at me. Her long spindly finger, sharp as a sewing needle, aimed in my direction. I wanted to panic. I was alone at a bar on a Thursday night.