Magical Realism
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She began dreaming about him in the dark dream, the one with the endless tunnels, stone walls that slid by cold under her fingertips, invisible because it was too dark to see. Hand outstretched, she would move forward, never knowing if she was progressing toward an exit or if at some point she had turned around and begun moving back toward the place she had come from, a place she could not remember.
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The stars are far away and the moon is touching someone else tonight. The only sound is the wind and dry leaves crunching under my feet. I wish I was alone, but I'm not. She's here, in her black dress with its long beaded train, watching me, following me. The Shadow Lady.
And I'm lost.
