Insomnia insistently claimed her.

A trickle of perspiration appeared under the cascade of her crimson hair where the first fine strands met the silk of her neck. The droplet rolled languidly over her bare skin, travelling unhurriedly across her shoulder until it reluctantly parted from her body to splash silently to the warm wooden slats beneath her naked toes.

She exhaled silently, contentedly. The oppressive heat and humidity stressed her less than the raw inability to embrace sleep. The sauna of her bedroom surely contributed to the lurking insomnia, sand scratching with every laboured blink, but the sticky air could not solely fall to blame. No. Not solely.

Eryn.

Extending her arms, the girl leaned gracefully upon the sill of the open window, her damp palms supporting her against the cracked and tortured paint of the frame. Her breasts swayed easily between her arms in synchronicity with her rhythmic breathing; the motion reminded her of departed gentle fingertips, and promises of more.

Outside, nothing stirred, the world asleep, absent even a whisper of a breeze to relieve the unyielding torridity of the night. Streetlamps pooled voiceless light upon the stark sidewalk below, where no intruders braved their nocturnal tranquillity. Beyond, no vehicles capered through the darkness; no harsh candles flickered behind thousands of darkened windows. Only moonlight blanketed the plains of the cityscape, casting muted shadows across the earth. But for the ever-present song of crickets and the hovering molten face of the moon, she possessed the night. Hers. Alone.

Alone.

Grainy eyes closed. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the night, absorbing it, integrating it, a fundamental segment of her soul. The fragrance of lilac and cut grass saturated her senses, caressed her very lungs.

Even here, far from the tangled bedclothes, she could sense Eryn’s heady perfume, her intoxicating passion, her impulsive laughter. She could feel the touch of velvety fingers slipping through crimson curls, painted toes sliding up her naked calf, hardened nipples pressing into the burning skin of her bare shoulder. Lips tingled where she’d kissed Eryn goodnight, Eryn’s fingertips lightly tracing her jawline. She watched silently from the bed as Eryn, aglow in moonlight, haltingly dressed, stealing from the steamy bedroom, swallowed whole by the oppressive night beyond. Flaxen haired, a beautiful ghost, a nymph of the night, possessing only the promise of more.

“Until tomorrow,” Eryn had softly whispered, before she disappeared with merely one fleeting glimpse of an upturned heel.