Wheeling Gull Isle What gets out kool-aid stains?

When she called to him again her voice was closer, but not warmer. It was filled with apprehension. He turned his head and cocked his ears in the direction of that voice, feigning interest in case he really was making it up; it wasn't the first time his addled brain had produced a ghost as company. Titmouse had ingested so many poppies in his short span of life that he should've been dead by now from overdoses, but fate granted him flashes of not-quite-there life instead. Maybe this was one of those — a flashback to happier times.

Maegi had appeared to him before. In the weeks since her departure, he'd thought she'd been with him on multiple occasions. By the sea - where the surf slammed the rocks; among the shadows of the woods - grinning, watching; and with the coming of the winter storm, Titmouse often thought he spied her figure drifting with the ice. He saw her, but didn't move any closer. A part of him knew it was really her this time — it must have, because he felt something stirring in his chest when he fixed his eye upon her. But he didn't move to intercept, and just watched in silence. What could he say anyway?