On a Highland Hill

The night was cool, empty, docile in its purity; Jagged cliffs gave way to death drops, then endless water, flowing as far as the eye could see. Thier depths holding something famillir with thier desperate, intimate waves.  The moon shone high in the starry abyss that was the sky; Dusted with coulds that stole away some of its enchanted light. Making a night that should have been beautiful and romantic, eerie and chilling.

A hollow cry gave break to the air. It was a desperate, mourning bay that vibbrated down the cliffs edge; Falling down, down until finally hitting the waters surface and echoing back. The cry flew back through the mountian, the pain carried just the same the second time around; And in the distance, the echo was replied to. Only this time the mouth the created such a painful cry unhinged its jaws, and shrieked. The sound like nails against glass, like the creatures soul was breaking, calling out for help. 

Just when the cliffs threatened to crumble under the pressure of the moan, from the terror of it, the cry broke. The sudden silence made the lapping of the water at the cillfs edge reverberate with its loudness. The night quite once again, but there was still no peace in the air, no harmony to the blackness.

The shadows dripped the honey, thicker than blood, full of dark promises and sweetened sins. In the night the shadows were darker than dark, alive and touchable; Silk and velvet breathed to life from the lips of some dark seducor, some untamable and sweetly-sick being. And from that darkness, from that deadly beauty came a figure; Tall, statuesk, like carved marble pulling away from black honey. It clung to the figure, trying to embrace with its ashed tenticals; Caressing the hollow of the neck, sliding along the strong thighs, and twisting over the knuckles trying to keep contact. The figure moved forward though, and the velvetine shadow spilled away, leaving black dropplets to dry or drip away from the stone flesh. 

Then there he stood, white skin vibrant in the moonlight, more so that it seemed something was glowing from within, deep within that carved marbel made from the sinful darkness. His flesh lay bare to the cool wind, free of the darkness completely; He stood maotionless, head back, eyes shut gently, arms relaxed at his sides, and suddenly the night was made beautiful once again. It seemed not that he was made for the night, but the night was made for him. 

In one rushing moment he gave a deep breath, and the world moved again; Fog drifted up from his feet, dripping its mist over his skin becoming solid. It encased his calves with blackwashed demin, flowing up his thighs and over his hips. Crawling further with whispy tendrills it spilled over his torso and shoulders, hanging lose silk, black as night, where it touched. 

At last the fog rolled away, and he stood dressed in black matched the night, his hair hanging loosely past his shoulders like a silver waterfall. He moved then, sliding his hand into the front pocket of the jeans and pulled out a small picture. He thumbed the image for a long, quiet moment, before holding it out and meeting the eyes of the young girls image. 

He spoke then, eyes stilled locked with the pale green eyes of the girl. His voice like the soft rumble of thunder to come, his eyes the blue lightening of its partner. His words were quiet in the night, but they carried further than the eye could see. Flying swiftly over the waters and through fields like a dark promise, casting out to find his future enemies and sending shivers down thier spines.

"I will find you, Emma."