The Spiral

Inside, the wide wooden stairs were painted in a streak of silver moonglow. They had once gleamed as the sunshine in May but they were scuffed now with the continuous up-and-down of teal heels and cheap white faux-satin spats in the hours past midnight. The sounds of his feet were like ghost steps and his voice the sweet melodic straining of an antique violin. He’d rustle her skirt, and in her chest you could hear a pin drop it was so quiet. Her heart stood still, frozen with waiting. It was coming, slowly, she could feel it. She couldn’t get herself to breathe securely during those moments. Her rapid-paced breaths came erratic and short but strong. After lifting her up he’d slip back down; the spats beaming off moon rays. Up in the stars she would lie on her back, chin lifted up towards the now nonexistent ceiling. She had just taken a ride on those satin wings. excerpt from a book by Lilybear