(This is some kind of continuation of my earlier thing, the change in style is deliberate but I don’t have the time to explain the concept in depth, see this as a parallel section, which explains the first bit a little, any input would really be valued)
Amidst the dark, amongst the light
Darkness, but realisation of darkness. His eyes slid open and the night ended, light caught his face, harshly at first even though it barely filtered through the white curtain. His eyes focused and from the mist she emerged. The weak light shone on her and in reflecting from her pale skin it seemed to grow brighter and infinitely softer. Her dark hair lay as shadows across her face and through the bed sheets the faintest hints of curves could be seen. Sleep still cradled her in its arms and her face was so relaxed and calm he could almost imagine that she was yet to be born to this world. One beautiful porcelain hand lay open, free of the sheets; he slid his hand up until his fingers lay across hers. She stirred slightly and her hand closed, upon meeting the unexpected resistance of his fingers the soft fingertips probed every line of his hand until, as if they stumbled across some subtle sign which without a doubt proved the identity of the hand, her fingers closed gently around his and she released a sigh so gentle it was nearly lost among the unnoticeable breezes of the room. Her blue eyes opened, and in that moment before she saw him he saw her true beauty and innocence. She focused on him and slowly a smile grew on her lips, which then parted to utter
“Good morning my love” He smiled back. Gentle silhouettes played on the curtain, as the wind played with her hair. He rolled onto his back and let his eyes close once more, no soon had the snow soft light ceased to fall through his eyes than he felt the gentle weight and warmth of her leg resting on his and her head on his shoulder.
“Lets lie here forever,” murmured a gentle whisper and sleeps gentle hands closed his eyes.
Vision returned to him, but he saw no ethereal light, darkness and the moons etchings was all he could discern. La Luna’s rays painted blooded shadows over those skeletal sheets. His mind still buzzed with the memory of the dream, and her. The bed once so full of life was now desolate and barren, a savage wind played with the tattered curtains which cast fleeting and furtive shades across the room. With the destruction of the dream within his mind he suddenly felt the sheets enclosing him, groping mindlessly at his frame. He threw of the sheets and with the determination of a dying man rose from that grim altar.
