Rhapsody’s milky face beamed in the moonlight, her black eyes, lips, and hair like the void of space—unreflective and endless. She was mouthing something to Eileen, her plump, black lips parting to release a biting cold blast which caused Eileen to shiver. She expressed something important to Eileen, but in frustrating silence. Eileen yelled at Rhapsody, unable to make out her own words above the rustle of the treetops. The black-clad girl stepped away through the long grass towards the verdant wall of leaves and vines. Eileen reached out to catch her, but Rhapsody just laughed silently at her and pulled away, like it was a game, her black skirt blowing around her ankles and her long, black hair flowing out behind her like an ebony wave.
Ahead, a pair of golden eyes peered from the undergrowth, catching the light of the full moon and shimmering like water: the golden wolf, Tenskwatawa. It did not speak, but it wanted Rhapsody to follow, and infuriatingly she did, moving further and further from Eileen’s reach until finally the girl disappeared into the trees, leaving Eileen alone in the clearing. The long grasses whispered, and the trees spoke with a high pitched hiss, like a radio between stations. The moon stared down on her, inert, unhelpful, and useless.
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