The Girl in the Purple Room
Down the stony streets, in the heart of winter is where it started.
I enjoyed walking very much, it cleared my head of overly pensive nonsense and conspiracies. The weather was cold and the night was only illuminated by the moon, waxing at this point. It was on this walk, this very night, that I saw her.
A gothic looking edifice of five floors however it was the third that caught me. Nay, struck me. A lavender hue, moving like a dreamscape, controlled by a silhouette. The silhouette of a young woman. She danced in these purple shades. Transfixed, I continued to watch until the clouds covered the moon and darkened my path home. A black night so thick you could taste it.
Every night since, I paused and admired the girl in the purple room, dancing. Whirling effortlessly in the lavender light. It was truly ethereal, lifting me from the depravity of the self. As the weeks went on, it was a nightly ritual to watch her nude shadow beautifully illuminated by the majestic hues, until one night, it stopped. She was no longer dancing. No. Her silhouette stood still in the window, her gaze transfixed, on me. It was no longer warmth I felt rather a frigid chill gripped my spine when I heard it.
