02-21-2008, 09:18 PM
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Buildings like frozen giants in the still and cold Canadian winter night, this place could be mythical, Poe thought. If not mythical, a freeze-frame of the Titans just before their decent, surely magical. Six months she had lived in this city, and for as mundane as she feared it may have become to her, there were times that it proved differently. When the moon took a stand and the sky sprinkled a light dusting of snow on walks and roofs, and it felt so still, so silent that she could be the only one who had ever walked there, ever disturbed this carpet of snow. She moved to an internal soundtrack, long steps and a sway of the hips that carried the absurdly grandiose dress she had pulled from a museum's Colonial exhibit. It left a wide path centering small werewolf footprints that rarely struck a straight line, and very often spun and doubled back and forth. But it eventually led to the dark dancer, a mess of improperly arranged human trinkets and gaudy fabric from the hips-down. Her eyes were closed now, her lips closed to the song that churned in her throat, and her arms thrown out like a little girl's, balancing and acting, oblivious to and wrapped up in the concrete winter wonderland.  | ||