shiloh & harlow ; on the patio
She'd made her escape by the light of the moon, dressed in two pieces of blue, and some as-promised running shoes. It was a daydream of a dress, the color of muted myrtle blossoms, or periwinkle moth wings. It was cheerful dress, one passively dedicated to blithe babydolls and all of the pretty, spring-time things who didn't have a care in the whole damn world. But those running shoes spoke of some darkness lurking beneath her tranquil blue sea.
Tonight, Harlow hungered like a carrion bird. She needed out of that house, out of that attic with the door that locked from the other side. The lock on door did little to dissuade her on most nights, as she had a window and an ivy-gnarled trellis for climbing. She hadn't gotten much use out of her window escape act after the memories had blown through and tainted the dark corners of her captivity with a pervasive gloom and unshakeable dysphoria.
But enough about her nightmares already. To the rear of the manse! Then, out and onto the patio, where she could discuss constellations with a few passersby before stepping up and alone, to the wooden railing. Soon, Shiloh would come. She thought he would come. She hoped the night didn't rush her. Harlow thought to placate the moon by smiling a most spurious smile up at its sideways and silvery rictus. It seemed to stare back pale and most unconvinced.