Sofya Benevolenskaya

Night and the owl

‘What could it bring?’ In the cold breeze of late hours, a shadowy figure thought to herself. The sun was just swallowed by the night sky, but the bloodstains of its disappearance were still painted across the indigo sky. One by one the echos of the worlds far away were lighting up in the darkening sky. A cold, thick mist was surrounding the lonely bonfire lit in the open jaws of the forest meadow. Frightening trees and their shadows were creeping closer and closer to the warmth of the fire, as the coldness of the rising moon shone on them.