Whistling of the wind, the tree limbs scraping against her window. As the day grows dim, a faint presence abides in her body, sending her into a cold shiver.
She lies there watching as a storm approaches, her body feeling tender.
Fighting an urge to rip off her flesh. The storm fades swiftly, the sky clears, the night turns crisp.
Panicking, pacing, stressing out of the blue, she starts to run and feels renewed.
Running through the moonlit field, shedding her garments, one by one. She feels lighter, more stealth whilst running.
Finding herself closer to the ground. While the time goes by she blacks out.
Finally controlling the adrenaline, she stops. She tries to weep, it's far from a mundane cry.
A shrill howl overcomes her.
Sitting, starring, howling, calling.
She tries to understand but her wit becomes part of the night.
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