Storm clouds.
Strange.
The sky had been clear only moments before. Now it was dark, the clouds rolling in like a sea of obsidian, leaving the park drowning in shadow.
The wind comes.
Leaves flutter furiously past, making a percussion of tiny pinpricks along the stone path. Then they catch the wind, rushing into the air, making a living tapestry of reds and yellows. Swirling freely yet avoiding the pair. A man and a woman.
Two figures. Solitary. Staring at one another, separated by the rush of leaves.
Folds of black silk cloth mingling with red and gold. He offers a hand, pale and porcelain, white flesh a startling contrast to black silk. Silk and porcelain mixing to create the form of a perfect, beautiful living doll that any little girl would cherish.
She hesitates. He is unearthly. Unfamiliar. He is beautiful.
She takes his hand.