Fractured Light in an Onyx Veil

The sun is a jagged blade of gold, slicing through the concrete silence. I stand where shadows fracture like ice on a pond.
My dress—a silhouette of midnight—clings to me as if it were made from captured sighs and city dust. Every breath feels heavy with what remains unsaid between us in this gallery of ghosts.
I remember your hand, warm against the cold marble, tracing patterns that looked like maps to places we never visited. Now, I am a reflection caught in glass—sharp edges blurring into soft curves under the gaze of an unseen observer.
The warmth isn't outside; it’s inside this skin-tight cocoon. It is the way you look at me when the lights dim: not as a person, but as a sanctuary. A quiet rebellion against the gray city pulse.
Step closer. Let our shadows merge into one long line of ink on the floor. In this fractured space, I am whole only in your eyes.

Editor: Kaleidoscope