Beneath the glow of the full moon, a figure tiptoed through the overgrown garden, a sense of anticipation in the air. Shrouded in bushes, trees, and the night's mist, nothing seemed to give away his identity, except for his dark, glinting, scarlet eyes. With every step he took, the night's silence grew louder- until all that could be heard, as if he was right next to you, was his breath. The figure had, until this point, shown no hesitation in his intention to get to his destination. Then, however, the clouds shifted, hiding the moon, and the glint of his eyes- and he stopped. The sound of his breath had vanished, leaving a vacuum of silence so overwhelming it could shatter one's eardrums. Before anything else could be said about this mysterious man, the windows of a nearby cottage shattered, piercing the air. Unlike any other glass that gets to complain aloud about its fate in the few seconds the universe has assigned to it, this one went on. It tore into the very air, its sharp fingernails puncturing the essence of the scene, scratching loud enough to wound the heavens above.
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