Not a bird, nor a star, or a cloud dared to share the sky. The moon, round and beautiful as it was, remained alone.
The Reverent Father could not find solace in his bed, and had only pretended to since laying down. His mind was consumed with the idle chatter of the townspeople. They had truly made a play of him. To be coerced into believing in mere fairytales once believed by misbehaving children. It was absurd. To find any reason in it, and yet he still lingered there. Perhaps deep down he found some truth in their way of life. From the window, he could see farther than before. There, like an ant scurrying to a platter, a slender body walked the garden. From where he was positioned it was difficult to distinguish much else, certainty impossible to see a roster, but it was assuredly a woman who was there. For even as far as they were from one another, the curve of her bare breasts ballooning in the frigid cold exposed her.
Her skin was like milk in the way that the color of the moon reflected. He wondered if he was dreaming after all, for an instant, his heart began to race uncontrollably as he watched the waxy figure disappear behind the trench of pine trees that bordered the outskirts of the manor.
He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, and realized he was alone.