Providence deposited me at the mouth of winter’s midnight. The parchment, pressed against my bare flesh, seeped its siren song into my bones. I hadn’t counted on the world’s fortuitous sendoff nor the reciprocal sovereign hand that reached for me. But here I am. The path ahead looked dismal. Dense fog curled itself around the faintest of light, sucking it down like a ravenous child eating supper in the presence of death. Who was I to question my circumstances? I held the ticket, purchased with autonomy and expectation. Of course, I was wrong. The sky wept openly, soaking what little covering I wore. It weighed me down like chains, sticking…