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.
Smoke dances its way through the rustling trees, as the wind chimes sing from the shadows. A tiny white light flickers from the woods. Shiny black crows fight over yesterday's feast.
