Moonlight and Soft Laughter
Outside, the wind was soft—soft enough to caress the long curtains and tickle Leon's hair as he reclined against the soft velvet couch. One arm was slung carelessly over the backrest, the other across the armrest, fingers unclenched. His position, while relaxed, had an effortless poise—a silent authority. Peaceful. Regal. Like a king in repose, or a painting brought to life. Breathtakingly serene, as if he were more of myth than man.
For a long, still instant, time itself delayed around him.
Then, the stillness of the evening was interrupted by the quiet sound of footsteps coming down the sweeping staircase.
Leon's eyes opened—slowing, creeping.
