She sat, anxious, in her armchair, waiting for the sun to disappear fully. Waiting for the darkness to be full and strong.
She waited and waited, her patience never fading.
The night had stories to tell her.
When the sun died to the night, she inhaled deeply and waited.
Waiting, waiting, silent.
Her clock tick, tick, ticked.
She stared out, her eyes consumed in darkness, her reflection gazing steadily at her, her eyes rimmed in darkness, her lips red with blood and vengeance. A fierce creature of the night, gazing in at her.
Tap, tap.
She jumped, though she had been expecting this. Tilting her head away from the creature that moved with her, she focused on the blank space of wall to the right of the window.
Tap, tap, tap.
This was the signal. Gingerly, she brought a fist over to the wall to respond with two and then three soft tap, tap.... tap, tap, taps.
There was a few moments of silence and then it started up again, faster and louder, almost urgent. But this was its ways.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap, pound, pound, bang, bang, bang.
She repeated this: Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap, pound, pound, bang, bang, bang.
The tap were delicate with the edge of her white knuckles, the pounds a little harder with the sides of her fist and the bangs from both hands, as she were angry.
She had been taught this.
And this was what she knew. This was her true language, the language of the night.
The wind howled and she threw her head back, exposing her throat, to let out a low moan, soft enough that her parents would not hear, but loud enough for all the night to respond to and loud enough to make the dead shift in anxiety in their earthy graves.
The wind was nothing more than howls and moans, each one meaning something different. She had learned this easily, though no one had told her. It had simply been known, as if it was her true language that had been sleeping in the back of her mind. She understood it perfectly.
The wind rustled the leaves of the trees and a few branches snapped far below her window. A few dead leaves swept down - or was it up - and gently swayed against her window. They did not blow away or fall as any normal leaves would do. They simply swayed in the wind, dancing for her, captivating her, speaking gently to her.
The night had a warning for her.
She laughed. Nothing could harm her.
Her eyes caught the moon and she wondered if she was right. A chill swept through her at the sight of that dreadful moon, seeping into her lovely night. Making her eyes scream and wince.
She shuddered and the leaves swept outside, caressing her window.
Gently, she opened her window and the leaves came in on the wind. She did not shudder at the chill, though she wore only a short black tee and black cloth shorts with black stockings hugging her legs. Black fuzzy slippers were pulled over her feet and her raven hair was clipped behind her ears with blending clips that were hardly noticeable.
The leaves swirled around her, whispering to her, lifting her hair from her shoulders and making it dance around. She inhaled softly, the night scents soothing to her. The wind carried the dried leaves around her, filling her with an odd thrill.
Again, she flung her head back, her eyes glazed and white as they glared at the ceiling. Letting out a hoarse sound from deep within her throat, the leaves increased in their twirling, wrapping around her with quickening speed, filling the room with earthy scents.
Noiselessly, like a ghost, Persephone rose from her chair and stepped closer to the window. Her head was still flung back so that she gazed unseeingly at the ceiling and saw nothing else, though she was fully aware of everything around her.
From the open window, strands of leaves trailed on the wind, like sighs of passion easing themselves in and around her.
They continued to flow, like eerie dead butterflies of the night, some spotted with unhealthy yellow and others a deep autumn red. The majority were a dull brown, speckled here and there or else plain and unattractive to the eye.
Each leaf brushed against her, curled around her legs, spun around her hips, up around her stomach, encircling her small breasts and entwining themselves like bands of metal around her outstretched arms. They hung in rotating circles around her neck, necklaces of moving leaves. Everything about the scene was dreadful, unnatural. The leaves groped around her, making her sigh and moan at their touch. They became restricting, like thick binds around her, bracelets around her wrists that ran up to her shoulders, a noose around her neck, anklets around her ankles and clinging, uncomfortable and scratchy fabric around her legs. A tight belt restricting her waist and binding her chest.
Persephone's breathing became ragged. She gasped for breath but found no air and sucked in nothing, like the night, only darkness, darkness, darkness, swirling around her and groping in its search, unsuccessful.
With a sighing breath of disappointment, the leaves all fell from around her and danced to the floor, truly dead and useless now. The wind was no more.
Persephone realigned her head in its usual position and shivered.
Quickly, she reached towards the window as if to shut it but something made her stop, a grip around her wrist, restraining. She gazed down but nothing was there, just her thin and pale, bony wrist, bare and normal.
Goosebumps wore themselves on her arms. A stray leaf still hovered in the air, floating slowly on its sad descent to nothingness.
Her dull amber eyes watched it warily as it fell as if in a great defeat and softly landed upon the litter of leaves cluttered around her feet, surrounding her in an uncannily-perfect circle.
Edging forward, she leaned out the window. Her hips locked her securely in her room as her head and shoulders ventured into the cold night air.
"Beware," the leaves gathered on her floor seemed to whisper to her, again, clearly this time.
"Beware, beware, beware."
As her eyes glanced around at the dark outdoors, she felt comforted. She could see every detail in their fence, every scratch in their yard's acorn tree. Her eyes felt as if they were seeing things too clearly. It had to be unnatural to be able to see in the dark. This thought made her giddy. It excited her to no end that she, above all people, had been chosen to share the night, share its secrets and become a part of its enchantments.
Still, the moon shone down too brightly. Every hole in it only marked its damage as a dangerous criminal, gazing down at them all and plotting, disfigured in its search for revenge and bloodshed. It moved the tides against them, tried to swallow them up. Only the darkness could keep the moon in control. Only the darkness was safe.
Shuddering under the eyes of the moon, she retreated back into her dark room. Dark and safe.
The leaves rustled faintly in a light breeze. It swept past her, whistling a tuneless song upon her ears.
"Remember: beware."
Then the breeze was gone, carrying the leaves, one by one, haltingly up the wall and out the window, back into the darkness.
Persephone watched them go. Each one brushed past her on their retreat, tickling across her feet, twirling around her legs or brushing consolingly across her cheeks. She stroked at each one with gentle fingers, bidding them farewell.
Then she closed her window on the night and gazed at that night creature in the glass, staring in at her. She looked tired and scared.
No, not tired. She must not be tired. She is never tired.
Persephone sighed softly, gazing out her window at the darkness, pure except for the dreadful moon. It shone in odd slants across her floor and extended its reach upon her body, as if laying a claim to her.
Quickly, to get away from the moon, she fell back into her chair and kicked at the floor roughly. The armchair protested only slightly, thumping against the floor before obeying her and removing itself from the light of the moon.
Persephone relaxed. As long as she was far from the moon's grasp, she was fine.
No more tap, tapping's came that night. No more noises or disturbances outside her window. The leaves did not come to comfort her as she stared out of her window, watching the moon sink lower in the sky, edging its light closer to her, stretching out to her.
The sky began to lighten, the darkness losing its power as the sun tried to reclaim its position as ruler of the sky.
The moon disappeared eventually and the sun came to stretch across the sky in arrays of color, pink and purple and the lightest shade of blue.
The sunrise did not bother Persephone, nor did the sun. They did not seem to truly threaten her darkness by attempting to drain it. The day and night had understandings with each other. The sun despised the moon and that is why it only came when the moon had gone. Maybe the sun was disgusted at the way the moon tried to dominate the darkness and make it disappear, just as Persephone was. Whatever the reason, Persephone understood that her darkness needed to rest and the sun allowed it to do just that, rising in a show of color in celebration. The sun was always in a good mood and it greeted Persephone like an old friend, just as the darkness did. Persephone felt comforted by the sun, even if she despised the light it cast across her world.
Persephone slid from her chair and stretched lazily. She stripped from her black clothing and stood, pale and white like her dreaded moon. She greeted the day in her stripped and light form, leaning on the window and flinging her head back so that her dark hair brushed down her back, tickling her spine. She smiled with a dangerous twinkle in her eye.
This was always how she greeted the day, baring herself to the light, to show that she was unafraid.
Crossing delicately to her closet, she selected black jeans, a black sweater, and black boots. She tied her hair up with a black ribbon and smiled at her full reflection in the mirror that hung conveniently on her closet door. Outlining her amber eyes in charcoal-black eyeliner, she smiled wider. Black eye shadow covered the tops of her eyelids so that when she blinked or winked with one eye all you would see was more black.
Mascara carefully lengthened her lashes, adding a widening effect to her eyes, brilliant with amber and gold.
Her lips puckered as she ran the dark red blood lipstick over them and then, rolling them together with satisfaction, she gazed at her reflection. The dangerous smile made her wide eyes twinkle and she moved away from the mirror to blow a stained kiss at the morning.
As her lips brushed across her palm, they left a smear of red, like real blood let into the air. Her dangerous smile became wider and she gently pressed her hand to the cold glass panes of her window, wiping her palm clean of the stain.
Lips curling into more of a wicked grin, exposing her stunningly white teeth, she walked out of her bedroom to roam the house like a silent ghost from the night.
Later, as every day, she would return to her room to add the white belt and ribbons and clips into her outfit. She did not know why she waited to do this, but she guessed wearing the light colors was a sort of tribute to the day, which she tolerated. She did not like to immediately wave off her dark night.
When she returned to her room, she gazed at the red smudge upon her window, noting how much it truly looked of blood. Cocking her head, she pursed her lips to evaluate it and decided that yes, it was good that way.
