Ambrose is in the garden, under the willow tree. His eyes are closed, moving in a dance that might be achingly familiar to Wyatt. The moonlight his partner, the breeze her caress, and he moves slowly to music that doesn't reach down here but he hears clearly in his mind.
The moonlight strikes the polished zipper like pure silver.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-08-27 09:23 am (UTC)The moonlight strikes the polished zipper like pure silver.