Muse

He thought she'd abandoned him. He paced back and forth, back and forth over the creaky wood floorboards on the third floor, the night stretching endlessly in front of him, a big black pit devouring his soul.

Little did he know she was just outside the window, creeping along the window ledge, pressing her body against the ice cold pane of filthy glass. She couldn't see him through the film, but she heard him crying, and it made her grow stronger, knowing that he was suffering, knowing that he grew weaker with every moment.

She waited.