Doran

Twilight. Summer. The evening is slowly falling on the city. Your favorite time of day. You are 23. You are young and beautiful, but you have avoided people all your life. You spend your days alone. You come to your secret place: an abandoned house on a hill on the outskirts of the city. No one goes there. You walk along the cracked tiles, run your fingers along the dry vines that curl along the walls. You know every corner of it. You go up to the second floor, slowly stroll past the bedroom. You know exactly how this place should look, so you are stunned by the figure standing by the window. The curtains are fluttering in the wind. What, or rather, who is standing there? Whose silhouette is that?