The first few days of my life in Stardew Valley pass without incident. I meet Willy, a lovely older man who teaches me to fish. I buy seeds from Pierre's general store and meet Pierre, who runs the place. I do not feel settled, and everything still seems like a vacation, a fluke. Like I moved in accidentally.

Saturday arrives, and I stop by the clinic to pick up my prescriptions. I'm not quite sure how my health plan works because Mr. Sampson's shelter took care of a lot of the management for me, thankfully, but I do know that they passed along my requirements to the doctor in town and that I'm out of antidepressants. Living in the country is meant to be therapeutic, but it can't do everything. So I make my way into town. On the way, I find some flowers and berries, which I put in my bag. The natural beauty of the valley is remarkable, but I've been reacting oddly to it. I feel like the little things that catch my eye are fleeting so I do my best to collect them and take them with me. Freud probably has some deep and subconscious explanations for my actions, but I'm no psychologist so I don't care.

I reach that cobblestoned clearing and turn left to the unassuming storefront built into the side of Pierre's. The white add-on appears to be leaning against the main store for support, which is an interesting architectural decision in my opinion. I hope it's structurally sound, because if the one place in town that can provide people with medical help were to fall down it'd be damn ironic. I enter the building through squeaky glass doors. Not the sliding kind. And, as no one is at the front counter, I take a seat.

I'm not the only one there, however. Someone is in front of me in line. It's a brown-haired man in his early twenties, probably, clad in a worn fleece jacket. The scruff on his chin ages him, but under it all he's got quite a good face. He's been reading something on his phone, without even looking up at me this whole time.

I sit at the other end of the waiting room across from jacket-boy, which is to say three seats away. It's a small office. We sit in silence for a moment, save for the ticking of a clock on the wall. It's an analog clock, which I could never get the hang of. Adding numbers in terms of bits of a circle is officially too confusing for me. Math was never my strong suit. The clock ticking grows louder in my head rapidly, so I fill the silence.

"Hey there! I'm new in town, sorry. My name's Dorothy." I smile at the man and use my sweetest, most sincere voice. Really laying it on him.

"Oh, what? Hey. Hi." He hardly looks up from his phone.

That wasn't quite what I expected. Everyone in this town has been quite amiable up till this point. "What's your name?" I ask him, quieter and more hesitant this time.

"Shane," he pauses and sighs, but his expression doesn't change any. "Nice to meet you." I get a quick glance this time before he returns to his screen.

Before I can awkwardly drive this conversation further, a door opens from behind the front desk. A man walks out wearing glasses and holding an armful of bottles, papers, and equipment, which he immediately begins to pile around his desk. "Here are your prescriptions, Shane. And if you would please sign this paper and pay the surcharge, then you're good to go," he says. Shane rises and strides over to the counter. I see a bottle of antidepressants on the table next to him. Ha! I'll have what he's having, doc. I half-smile as I think the line. I consider using it, just strutting across the room and doing my best to seem like the kind of person who would never in a million years be depressed. I decide against it. I've never been very good at jokes.

I blink and realise that Shane is gone, and I'm just sitting in the room with a small-town pharmacist waiting for me expectantly. I go up to the counter and slide across my prescription. I introduce myself and see a nameplate revealing the bespectacled man to be Harvey, the town doctor. Dr. Harvey has brown hair a few shades lighter than Shane's which was almost black, and a small mustache. He looks quite dapper.

Harvey is much more polite than Shane, but he's very businesslike, and something about the way he types patient data into his boxy old desktop reminds me of the city, and of people I left.

Mr. Sampson's hands were old and veiny, but they were firm, and never quavered even when he was dying. He seemed proud of them, and he relied on them to supplement his lacking eyesight.

I met with him one morning a few months after he took me in, or his charity did, I should say. It's not like I was adopted or anything. I was nineteen, which as everyone knows is an age people spend acting like adults. That was sarcasm, by the way. Like I said, I'm not good at jokes.

The morning was warm. The windows were open and a summer breeze pooled into Sampson's room and made it feel like we lived in the country, not one of the busiest metropolises in the Ferngill Republic. I had been with the shelter for a few weeks now, and Sampson had become quite the comfort. The old man had a calming presence.

I don't remember why I had come to see him, nor the beginning of our conversation. My memory sharpens and words come to focus at his words, "you have been with us for a while now, my dear."

"Yeah."

"And I remember the start, when I got to know you. I asked you about your face and your heart. I know it probably seemed imposing, like I was testing you. But I was not."

I wasn't sure what to reply, so I just nodded and muttered my agreement.

"You said that neither were particularly beautiful, and I am not here to argue with you about that. I know all you have showed me of your character, but only that which a small amount of time can portray. I will not contradict your self-image. However, I realize that the way I asked you about these features may have seemed limiting. This was not my intent."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I paid attention. I didn't want to miss anything.

"'Ugly' is a largely meaningless word, yet beauty can be found anywhere. In anyone. If you lack a beautiful face or heart, perhaps you have beautiful hands."

There was a pause.

He clarified. "Know that what you don't always feel in the mirror or in your emotions, you may find in your actions. I certainly do."

I remember his smile, warm with the air in the room. I don't remember what he said after, or what I may have replied. I just remember the advice. I kept it in my mind like an inspirational poster a disgruntled PE teacher might hang in their office. I tried to focus on it when things turned for the worse, when my med bills hit hard, when I looked at the scars from my surgeries, when Sampson died.

My hands can be beautiful. They can do beautiful things.

Currently, my hands are full. I am standing on cobblestone. The clinic is behind me.

I spaced out a bit there.

Shaking my head clear of daydreams, I start to walk home. Before I reach the dirt path, I feel a pang of loneliness. My big trip into town involves one stop. I realize how few people I know in town. I realize how alien this place is. My feet trudge across the spring earth and take me to my house. Not quite a home. I know there's a difference but I don't know what it is. I take one letter from my mailbox, unlock my door and step inside, unloading my bag of paper and pill bottles onto a small doorside table.

Maybe Sampson's words are more apt than I thought, I think to myself as I open the letter, which isn't signed or stamped on the envelope. Maybe the difference between a house and a home is what I make of the place. Maybe I need to let my hands make it beautiful. Maybe.

Inside the envelope is a small note, handwritten by the looks of it. I lean against the rough wood wall as I read it.

It's from Mayor Lewis, and he's reminding me of an event in town. I appreciate the reminder as I had no idea this was going on. The egg festival, just a few days from now. Huh.

Maybe I'll get more settled in at the festival! God, I have no idea how small town things like this work. Should I dress up?

Before I get worked up by the mere concept of a social life, I pause and get some water. No need to panic. It'll be fine. You'll meet some people. Maybe some will like you.

Maybe.