The early morning fog drifted lazily between the trees. Tetyana paused for a photo as she bicycled to work. "What a beautiful fog," she said. Wind breathed through the mists, which swirled as though preening. As she biked on, the mist filled the streets behind her. She cycled faster, but in the time it took her to lock up her bike at work, fog had filled the parking lot. It spun and whorled as though hidden creatures danced just inside the mist's concealing embrace.

Tetyana hastened into the hospital, and the mist followed. Others gasped as it crept along behind her. But whenever she looked, the fog danced as though caught in a breeze.

Despite her haste and closed doors, she couldn't lose the fog. It found her in the changing room, in her office, and as she made her rounds. When it followed her into surgery, she snapped at it.

"Vanity is the enemy of beauty," she said. "When you demand attention, I cannot see your beauty. If you stop following me, I promise to visit you each morning and watch you dance. Okay?"

The fog was unnaturally still, then receded. Each morning thereafter, the fog danced for her.