Still Night

The night tells secrets the day can only dream of. Without words, the scent of the cool pre-dawn breeze can paint an image in the mind's eye, coupling with the symphony of rustling leaves, giving birth to an entirely new entity that exists entirely in the thick, foggy consciousness that hovers between the waking and sleeping worlds. She lay in the darkness, her face bathed in the soft light from her open window. Strong, German features were dipped in shadow, the hollows of her eyes glimmering in the shade of her hooked nose. In the silver light, it was hard to tell what color her shirt was, let alone her hair or eyes. But those eyes, that should have been held shut by dead-bolted dreams and triple-locked fantasies, were open and staring. What she thought she saw was unclear, but she was staring directly into the face of a man that shouldn't have been there.