it is twilight.
a carriage sits silently on one side of an expansive clearing, densely ringed with trees.
in the distance behind you there is a dilapidated cottage; windows broken, thatched roof caved in.
a steady and comforting rhythm emanates from the the surrounding woods
a woman begins singing mutedly (almost whispering) inside the carriage.
the sun has now set and the moon, a thin and faint crescent of light, is on the move.
the woman’s voice is much more pronounced now, but the words are hard to pin down and focus upon as they slide past you through the damp night air.
the carriage door opens and she steps out of the cab looking straight ahead past you.
she gingerly takes the stairs one by one until both feet are firmly planted on the earth.
the woman, still looking past you, begins walking towards the cottage.
a loose fitting white dress trails behind her in the dewey deep green grass.
you look up to the sky for what feels like only a moment.
the stars are pinwheels of light, slowly turning as they arch across the sky overhead.
suddenly she next to you, her voice swelling directly beside you.
has she already reached you? how did it happen so quickly?
her voice is fading now.
the soft pink light of morning begins creeping over the edges of the trees.
behind you, a wooden door creaks open on iron hinges and then closes firmly.
the sun has risen.
you are alone.
all is silent.