As she laid upon the midnight clover, her thirsty skin puckered and chilled as it drank in the icy dew. She didn’t seem to mind, or notice even, the fact that it soaked right through her white linen gown. No one was around to hear her exhale a languid sigh as she turned her gaze upward and peered through the hovering mist at the gleaming moon above. Its outlines were hazy and clouded in the damp night air; they seemed to seep through and down toward her, reaching to grasp that pale, slender hand the girl stretched out toward its beckoning face. A cold night wind glided past her fingertips, carrying the powdery luminescence down with it, coating her thin fingers with the moisture of the air.
She drew in a faint gasp and quickly retracted her hand. Had she left it outstretched for a moment longer, she had the queer feeling that she surely would have been lifted and taken up and away by that lone, gazing night.
-Myself, Amanda EuNiece Jones. Just a fragment of some unknown, future story that popped into my head.
