Her icy fingers slowly crept out, the frightening shadows' dark mysteriousness quickly seducing her until they were close enough to grab her by the waist, the neck, and violate every crevice of her body. But not a shiver escaped, not one word of protest exited her mouth to be highlighted by the cold, and turned into a mist as dark and mysterious as the shadows which lent their chill. The breeze teased her, blowing her hair into her eyes, attempting to violate her as well, force her to wink. She would not. But she did sway as the wind blew stronger.
The threads of a beach towel made a creaking sound, threatening to snap, and drop her to a depth indiscernible under night's blanket. Of course, such a drop could only incite excitement, fill a body with adrenaline. At least, that would be the affect once compared to the drop she had already suffered and survived, almost in one piece.
In the morning only the birds would notice a new figure flying. She had about her the appearance of some royal lady fallen out of the pages of a fairytale. Her beauty was so deserving of a more regal setting that the sun shimmered it's gold onto her, until she glowed with it. They dry grass below her assumed the same appearance of being gold-drenched. The silver of the previous night's moon had by now been engulfed, and covered by the gaudy sun. By trying to improve perfection, the picture had become only more garish.
And yet, it had a certain appeal to it. A certain question lurked in it's details. But once the picture was immortalized before the morning had ended, no one could quite figure out what the question was. The Mona Lisa lost all mysterious allure it had had, seeming too commonplace. Perhaps because sometimes questions themselves are comments, slaps in the face. Something better avoided.