The room was dark, darker than it was outdoors. No moonlight casting shifting shadows through waves of leaves. No sparkling cobblestones or stray pennies or cats' eyes. Only the occasional glow of a lit cigarette. He waited.
Quiet, too. Only breath and heartbeat and a creaky, ancient ceiling. Sometimes he'd mutter to himself.
He waited for her, but he knew she wasn't coming back. They only came back in movies. Bad ones, usually.
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