She shivered, pulling her parka closer against the cold. Her date was a no-show, stood up again, didn’t it figure? She wound up eating alone at a little diner she knew.

The food was probably good, but her spirit was so low she could hardly taste it. The cold bit into her as a gust of wind kicked up a flurry of snow. The trees seemed to be calling to her, the wind whistling through the bare branches a keening song of ache and loss.

No. The singing was coming from just beyond the lines of trees. Her curiosity piqued, she stopped to listen. Yes it was definately a clear voice. But, the pitch, the sound, that feeling of hollow void in her chest. It was terrible and beautiful, made her want to go mad with grief and dance in exctasy.

Then she caught a glimpse of the one whose voice took her to the edge of sanity. He was white as the snow, unclothed, his twilight hair cascading around him like a veil. He turned on her the most desolate eyes she had ever seen. No one could have eyes like that while living.