The summer breeze was a warm blanket on those nights. The nights where the fire burned and fueled our dancing shadows. The nights where the muffled hooting of an owl lulled the moon with its serene songs. I kicked forward into the woods, alone this time. Trees etched over me cutting the guiding moonlight into slits. Her hut broke through the woods aggressively and nipped at my self control. My eyes fell cautiously onto the failing woodwork, tapered with thinning shingles and abusive bruises, wrapping the house in a thick patterned quilt. I peered through the window;
she still waited.