A gusty midnight breeze softly danced around the wooden maze. It felt strained, the way it blew inconsistently. A weak zephyrian tug as mournful as the howl it produced; yet under the burning moonlight even that out-of-place wail felt quaint. It was a menacing kind of softness that it bore, like the sharp undertone to a foreboding crescendo. Caring, however grim.
The tall trees towered over a flitting undergrowth marked mostly by dried, patchy grass, though the occasional streak of fresh greenery had begun peering over the winter soil. Winter, yet the air was not frigid. Only a slight, lingering chill resided amidst the pillar-like trunks that were, it seemed, only so far from being unnaturally straight. Beside them everything seemed miniscule, dwarfed by the tranquil mass of the sea of wooden giants, frozen in time. Everything beneath that sky-reaching canopy was, it seemed, lost to the profound darkness of night. Or perhaps to the thick shadows of those wooden behemoths as they extended up into the starless void.

There was an odd sense of serenity to it. The black cotton clouds, slowly drifting across the moonscape bright enough to paint a sharp contrast between shape and shadow. Dreamlike it was, a painting of uniform hues, equalized by the heavy shade of darkness. Alone a pond remained untouched by it, its waters faintly aglow with a mystical iridescence. And it felt fitting. If no stars were present to compete with the full moon, then even the humble water, it's shine no less artificial could dare mimic the nightstar's beauty.











A man stood alone, half clad in shadows as he remained seated just out of reach of water. His elegant long coat, blue like dreamy skies, spilled on the forest floor, breaking its natural shape only to circumvent the right hand pressed on the dirt for support. Only his hair glistened faintly with moonlight, only that gave him away. No other colour was distinctive, as the man's seemed like a shadow dressed in an azure mantle. A ghost. Silent and unmoving. Peering into the silver light up high almost like a flower thirsty for life. Or a puppet curious of it.


But such sacred timelessness was, just that once, destined to be trespassed upon.

There was a comforting warmth to the coldness that wrapped around her. A long forgotten lover’s embrace, this feeling resembled, as it beckoned her forward under the pale moonlight.

Eva was running away from reality again. Ever since the release from her captivity, it was all she had been doing. A mountain of thoughts had already muddled her brain that after a point, it seemed to have suddenly short circuited. Neither did she think nor did she feel.

No chains fettered her to a pillar anymore yet even as she willed her legs forward, somewhere around her wrists and ankles was an oppressive tug of heavy shackles and a clinging sound of metals. Only she heard and felt it.

Evangeline was still a prisoner to herself.

Crackle Leaves crumpled under her bare, scarred feet. She drew her black cloak over herself again and walked forward, wandering like an ominous spirit. Strangely enough the night and her surroundings reflected her state of mind; desolate but placid. If she was pressed to find the exact words, she had none. It was too complicated and this soul never once believed that words can easily express one’s heart. At least she was never so eloquent.

Unaccompanied, Eva only stopped when she reached a pond, expecting to find no one out and about in the woods at this hour. But there was someone in front of her already with silver hair that, under the moonlight, looked like silky, luminous, threads.

And there was a shadow over him; a true picture of light and darkness.

With every bit of an intention to flee, Eva turned around only to stumble on an unsuspecting rock and fall face forward on to the grass. Thankfully she wasn’t hurt but her cloak was slightly thrown off to a side, revealing her golden locks and empty amber eyes.

Scarred, dirty, thin, and gloomy, there was nothing beautiful about a face half ruined nor was there anything to compliment on burnt, uneven locks of hair that spilled over her shoulder. However, even in her chaotic state, there was a radiance only Eva managed to give off. She was sprawled over the ground, but exuded the aura of an elegant, lost beauty.

“Urgh,” she groaned, moving to collect herself off the ground.

At first, only his eyes moved, though not without reluctance. There was beauty there. Up in his skies, there was a home he could no longer remember. There was hatred. A pain burning like... like fire. The man had always wondered how something as tranquil as the moonlit sky could remind him of flame. It did not matter, though, because beneath all of those tumultuous sensations was a foundation of emptiness. Of deathly calm. The deep darkness reminded him of that void, quietly laughing at how little the man could even understand of his own heart. Nights like it brought a feeling of true isolation, possible only in the darkest, most tantalizing of dreams. They were not real. They couldn't be.
Because reality was never so accepting of him as they.

The shadow-clad stranger heaved a quiet sigh, as if bearing down on himself judgingly. It was the only effective way to quell a mind growing chaotic, and it worked, opening his consciousness to the sensations of the moment. The wailing wind, surfing on moonlight as it were, struck him first. Something in the way it parted around his lithe frame felt pleasant. Satisfying, like a prognosis proved right.
But a surprising sound came next. Soft, crunching footsteps tore into his awareness like a gong in the dead of night. The pale man's trance vanished quickly, which at least finally allowed him to look away from the moon, only to be met with the sight of someone standing to the side of the pond, looking at him.

They... she?... was not far, yet with violet irises still full of moonlight, the pale man could discern little more than shapes. The figure was clad in black, but somehow felt frail. It was what his intuition managed to detect before the stranger turned to flee, promptly falling to the forest floor. For a moment, the sight stunned the beholder, as it reminded him of a flower. A black seed falling into black earth, yet in the brief moment before tragedy a flash of pale lightning bloomed from it. Then nothing. Was this truly a dream? A shake of the head was the chosen answer, enough to reinstate the focus of clear thought.

The regal clothing of the pale man creaked the way leather does when folded and almost immediately another gust of wind came. It took from his grace, how it caught his back mid-ascent as if it befell a ship's main mast. Before he knew it, the man had halved the short distance to the person, but stopped a couple of meters away. His eyes had adapted quickly; the clumsy visitor bore more likeness to a fugitive. Torn and tattered, the little skin he could see, her bare feet, was covered in... were those scars? His hand instinctively reached for his chest. The man... was confused. It certainly seemed reasonable to wonder why the woman would be so quick to flee, yet seeing her made the question seem unnecessary. Her aura was full of pain. He understood her -- a strange thing to say about someone he had never seen or spoken to before, however as she rose the expression he gleaned from her registered in his heart long before it even reached his mind. His reaction was instinctive, devoid of calculation.

"Are you cold?"

The voice oscilated soothingly, like the gesture of his palm extending. An invitation, to take her hand, to ask a question. Or, perhaps, to better see her face, half-hidden in the shadows. Would it reflect the concern of his own, so surreptitiously woven into the elegant calm he so often wore? Or would that mirror flee back into the murky shadows of the past?