A chill autumn breeze ruffles the hem of her skirt as she sits perched on top of the old weathered fence, her feet rest barefoot and cold one board below. She pulls her thin jacket tighter around her body and tucks her hands into the folds of her skirt, trying to will herself not to shiver too noticeably. It is nearly midnight. That's the time he told her to be here. She would do anything for him. To be with him.
Another crisp gust whips through her hair, bringing with it the cool caress of fingertips upon the nape of her neck. She reaches up and takes his hand in hers, turning around to place her lips to his palm, whispering how she has missed him. He slowly turns his hand over and traces the path of a single tear as it slips down her cheek, then gently grasps the hand still nestled in her lap. As he begins to pull away, she stands to follow, letting her fingers entwine with his. As they always have. As they always will.
A week earlier, the moon had been full and bright. The long grasses of the meadow had stood tall and straight, rustling soothingly as the two paramours laid hidden from view beneath the silver blades. Tonight, the moon is only half present, the outline of its missing fragment a barely visible illusion if you peered up at it with just the right tilt of the head. The grass has been trodden down, leaving just a few lonely stalks to wave them on as they walk silently towards the great Elm tree standing sentry at the edge of the darkened horizon.
She stands beside the trunk, running her hand over the rough outline of the mirrored arches carved into the furrows of the bark; her finger traces to the bottom of the shape, where the two halves intersect. A movement pulls her attention away from the heart that was carved into the tree nearly a century before. . .he stands to her left, his arms stretched out towards her. She quickly closes the distance between them, allowing herself to be wrapped up in his embrace. He stretches his neck out to rest his chin upon her head, and she gazes somberly at the darkened line of flesh below his jaw. She leans forward and brushes her lips against his neck, just beneath the earlobe, where the mottling begins to fade. She's sure she can feel his pulse quicken.
He lets his hands fall below her waist, grasping her hips to lift her atop a small, dark boulder, partially hidden in the matching grayness of the surrounding landscape. Brushing past a length of her dark hair that continues to dance in the wind, he reaches behind her; moments later, his hand reappears with the most beautiful necklace draped around his fingers. Delicately, he places the elegant braid around her neck. His eyes linger on the loop resting below her throat, than he raises them to meet hers, inquiring without a sound whether she is pleased with the gift. She nods in equally silent consent. He adjusts the fit, then places both his hands around hers, guiding her feet forward, breaking their contact with the cold surface of the stone.
Her breathing becomes increasingly shallow and he stands on the balls of his feet to place his lips to hers once more.
Her fingers fall numbly from his hands, so he interlaces his with them.
As the minutes pass, and the life fades from her form, he too grows faint.
The silhouette of her still body against the waning moon confirms the evanescence of their ties to the corporal world.