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The shadow passed by the glass. Not once. But on the hour once more it did return. At first it was merely a brush of the wind. No hearts beating quicker, no doubt in her mind. Just the melancholy and esoteric movements of the winder of the night. But on the second passing her heart did flutter. She stared into the eyes of the cold and moved closer the window from which she did stare. It stole her movements and attention. Much as he had. But neither she nor the shadow moved from their becalmed state. She took the first movement. Denying all warnings she touched the glass. Cold. Her body sensed the familiar feeling and yet, it never welcomed her no matter the acquaintance. But her apathy stole that part which wanted the intimacy. It was better than being battered and neglected. The shadow did not warm her. It did not comfort her or send her the much needed solace. Her eyes gave way of the signs of abuse. The blackened tears and rotten bruised flesh. She was left in her state of decay. At the moments passing a thought of Fate passed her mind. But none was such, for death would have been much too easy, as seen in her scars. She watched the shadow and it passed once more. Her unfriendly hope had left her to fight that monster in the mirror.