The moment her palm meets the glass, something moves through her. Not a shock, more like a wave, slow and deep, the way you feel the music bass in your chest. The shadow’s hand is pressed against hers with only the glass between them. She doesn’t feel danger or darkness. She only feels a presence. A presence that felt a million years old, wise, and lonely. She feels a sense of sadness but also as if she’s not supposed to meet this being. The shadow looks at Willow and it’s gaze softens. Willow doesn’t pull her hand away. She stands there with the shadow.