Click

The wind sings a haunted, lonely tune, calling out to the ghosts of the abandoned lovers out on the streets of the world's most romantic city. It beckons them forward, to sing their story, to weave their tale into this enchanted bundle of lives...lives that are worth remembering, worth preserving, but weren't worth living.

She hunches forward, her hair blowing about slightly despite the closed window. The street lights smudge the tears on her face, distorting them, like horrible special effects in a badly cliched movie. Her arms move restlessly, needles clicking disapprovingly as she attempts to blanket herself from the pain. Tries to tie the suffering together to make something stronger, something lasting - every one of their stories counts, needs to have a stitch. They all needed warmth and comfort in their lives, something the city of love and magic and art couldn't give them. They needed the shelter in which they could finally sleep peacefully, amidst each others' souls, dreaming of the romantic ideas of falling asleep in someone's arms, or falling asleep over a lovely smelling book with a quill in their hand, inspiration having swept them away. A shelter in which they could dream forever, and not come back.

The needles continue to click disapprovingly.