There she was - slumped against the back rest of the stone stool. All that stood between her and the bright lights above was the occasional breeze, and the confessions they contained in them. Saturated. Nights like that, they were the only thing she had to get used to, spent very much alone. But no, not entirely. The figure on the floor always stood by her and never once left. It won’t be long though, before she realises that it is because that figure had no choice but to follow her every movement and mimic them with such precision.
