In the morning sun, Selene's figure looked like a wraith carved from the place where light went to die.
She stood at the rooftop's edge without trembling beneath the violent wind, hair moving in slow strands around her face, her form wrapped in darkness so dense and elegant that the sunlight did not touch her so much as negotiate with her presence and lose.
The gold and yellow rays poured across the rooftop, across the glass, across the stone and steel, but when they reached Selene, the shadows around her drank the sun and all arrogant brilliant gold rays greedily and offered nothing back.
And it was not only the light the darkness fed upon but even the hungry storms of the wind died at her too.
