Winter's Dreams

1

The light of three racing moons drenched the smoky city. Silver shadows schooled lazily amongst crowded spires and steeples and minarets, making the gargoyles appear to stir and stretch. Mist crept through the narrow, tortuous alleys and streets, heavy with odors foul and sweet. The air scarcely stirred. Tall black prayer banners rose toward the weary stars, swaying like kelp beneath a gentle sea.

A broad-winged shadow wheeled like a hunting moth, began a circumspect descent that seemed to ignore but never moved out of sight of a certain open window high in the city's tallest tower. The separation dwindled. Then ceased to exist.

An indeterminate form perched on the windowsill, wrapped in its own darkness. The city was silent but a deeper stillness gathered 'till it seemed a clash of cymbals would not dare speak louder than a whisper. The darkness stole inside. A faint, crackling acetylene light tickled the necks of the grey towers facing the window. The gargoyles stirred uneasily.