Red velvet curtains, pristine, like a queens robe, gently sway in the heat. Cigarette smoke fills the air, dances from the ceiling. Drinks are served and poured, textured, smooth, golden, glistering as the light catches a glimpse upon its passing.
A mysterious figure lurks behind the blood red curtain, peering through a gap with its long uncut twisted finger nails, a shadow in the lonely darkness.
The moonlight caresses the sweeping branches, as the wind blows a whisper through the forest. The crisp leaves dancing through the midnight air, like tormented souls trying to escape the shadows.
