Perhaps because she had just washed her face, she looked as if draped in a layer of mist, her eyes glistening as they met his gaze.
The sight of the figure at the door seemed to brush away Hannah's weariness.
She extended a hand to pull the visitor inside. He, Arnold, obliged her gentle tugs. With his back against the door, he found himself standing before her tender form.
A subtle fragrance lingered at the tip of his nose, as if carrying the warmth of the girl before him.
There was no light in the room; it was pitch black, save for the scant moonlight filtering in through the window, casting a silvery light over the floor.
She leaned against him as if she had shed all of her strength, her arms circling his slender waist, whispering softly, "Arnold."”
Her voice seemed to carry a hint of grievance, soft and pleading.
