The first hint came on a rainy Thursday when Nora didn’t come straight home from class. We thought nothing of it. She’s nineteen, after all. All teenagers, around that age, technically an adult, had the right to hang out with friends, let off steam, and do whatever it is that teenagers her age usually do.
But it hadn’t started there. The first signs were subtle. Nora came home with her face glowing with some inner light we couldn’t place. She began brushing off questions, offering vague excuses, her smile deflecting where once it had invited. Slowly, we understood that something or someone was shaping her.