The room, the silence, the feel of her bare feet against the cold tile of the small foreign hallway, it surprises her that she hasn’t had a heart attack by now. There is little she can say or do that can comfort her. In fact the very conditions she lives in propels her terror into overtime. The rest of the house is dark, the Moon casting slight shadows on the gray living-room rug. She finds herself walking to the back of the room staring out through the large overwhelming windows, taking in the beauty of the woodsy ambiance at nightfall. The view is spectacular and seems to calm her split nerves, soothing the ascending panic that tends to come and go on its own accord. Her attic window was like a mouse-hole compared to this dreamy woodland fairytale. There is a small drift of fog peeking between the trees. The sprinkle of stars in the Sky splayed before her like glittering diamonds. The trees are mere shadows, leafy shapes and trunks, the only visible parts in the darkness.
