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Fly with me

The winter wind blasts her as she ducks under the stoop and fishes for her key. Lingering in the doorway is a tall, lanky figure watching her.

Josette pauses, key poised in hand, as she meets the man's black stare. "Lysander," she breathes, her heart accelerating. For the first time that day she doesn't feel the cold.

He is dressed in black from head to toe: his pale face is framed by close-cropped black hair. "Josette." His voice is barely audible above the howling wind. She notices for the first time that his cheeks and hands are wind-stung and she wonders how long he has been waiting there: she left to carry out her errands hours ago.

"I want to talk to you." There was urgency in his voice. Her heart beat harder: she couldn't help wondering if he had missed her as she missed him, if he felt the hollow cold as she did.

As she exhaled her breath was marked by frost. She slid her key into the lock with a trembling hand and jiggled it slightly. In the cold, the lock tended to stick tediously.

She glanced back at Lysander, who was watching her face intently.

Sent from Amanda's Treo @-'-,--

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