My Open Blook

The woman is perched on the edge of the building. One pale hand is tightly grasping a nearby pole for stability against the stormy gusts. The other hand carefully wipes the drop from her nose before absent-mindedly brushing aside her dark locks. The updrafts keep tugging at her hood, dislodging her hair from behind her ear. Tugging her hood back down, she holds it in place. Her eyes, slitted against the spray, rove across the city. This city, once so strange and alien, now feels more like home than home ever did. From the darkness above her another watches.