"Carmilla sweetie, do you mind going to the store and grabbing a couple things for dinner tonight? I want to make soup." Perry called from the kitchen.

You nodded to yourself, dropping your hand of cards, and stood from the table you had been sat at with Jeep and LaF. Grabbing your coat from off of the hook by the front door. You meandered into the kitchen to grab the shopping list from Perry.

"Thank you, Carmilla." Perry said, wiping her hands on her apron before going back to making her pie.

You nod your head, quickly looking over the paper before stuffing it along with your hands into your coat pockets.

Stepping out onto Toronto's autumn streets, you decided that a walk to the grocery store would be nice. There wasn't that much stuff you had to pick up and the weather had a beautiful crisp in the air.

You quickly grabbed everything you needed at the store, avoiding the cookie aisle as you went. Fifty years later, and you still couldn't drink grape soda or eat cookies; Christmas was the worst time of year, and the stars were no longer something you could stare at for hours on end.

It had been fifty years since Laura had past away, and you still spent every Friday at her grave. You still had the ring you wanted to give her around your neck. You still slept with her yellow pillow every night, even if it no longer smelled like her. You still wished it had been you instead of her.

Something had stopped you in your tracts though for the first time in months. After Laura had died, months and years afterwards, you still swore you could feel her, could still hear her laugh, could still imagine her curled in your embrace late at night. This time though, you had heard someone muttering, a feminine voice that was going off about the serving size in a packet of cookies.

You thought you were done hoping, that you were done praying for it to be her, and when you broke down, and turned the corner to walk down the aisle, the girl wasn't Laura. She was a bit taller, her frame a bit wider, and her stance was nothing like what your deceased girlfriend's had been. But something kept you from going back the way you came, something made you drop the chicken stock from your basket, and something made you close your eyes tightly when the girl's hand brushed yours while helping you pick it up.

That something was her eyes.

You swallowed a lungful of air, your chest expanding as it welcomed the taste of something floral and lemony. They were iher/i eyes.

"T-hanks." You stutter out, standing up straight. You wanted to run, but at the same time you wanted to know why it took Laura fifty years to reincarnate and come back to you. Being fashionably late was iyour/i thing.

"Don't worry about it."

Her voice didn't sound the same, but that nose was unmistakable. Laura was back from the dead, and you found her, like you had always promised her you would.

"Say, would you like to go grab a cup of coffee down the street?" You asked, jutting your thumb back over your shoulder. "It's pumpkin spice season, hard to say no to." You smirked, hoping that this Laura wouldn't be as hard to reel in as your Laura had been. Although it hadn't been all that hard to do, you're just hoping this girl didn't feel the need to document everything that you did, although it had been nice for a while.

She smiled kindly, "Too bad I'm a white chocolate kind of girl."

Your stomach dropped. Was she saying no? It sure sounded like it.

"Coffee does sound really good right now, especially considering it's pretty chilly out." She continued.

You smiled, holding out your hand, "I'm Carmilla."

Something passed by her eyes, a familiarity perhaps, something you had no doubt believing. Reincarnation kept you from remembering entire memories, but that didn't mean déjà vu was out of the equation. She shook it off though, shaking your hand. "Laura."