The morning sun hit Hollowtown's main square with all the enthusiasm of a wet napkin. Grace stood in the center, watching villagers attempt to hang colorful banners between buildings. The banners kept sliding down, pooling on the ground in sad little piles before they'd pick them back up and try again without a single change on their faces.
"Higher on the left," Zephyr called out, arms crossed as she supervised. "No, your other left. That's still right. How do you not know your own left?"
The villager, a middle-aged man who'd introduced himself as "just Tim", stared at his hands with genuine confusion.
"They look the same," he said.
Grace sighed.
"We're doomed."
"We're not doomed. They're trying," Zephyr replied. "Yes, yes, now, t-there! Good, good!"
"Trying and succeeding are different things."
Grace watched Tim finally get the banner up. It immediately fell down again.
"Okay... we might be a little doomed."
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