The Mist

She stood, waiting.
Silhouetted against the black window
Waiting for what she knew would never come.

The midnight fog pressed against the window
Obliterated all in her gaze.
And still she waited.
Tendrils of mist crept through the window
Caressed her tangled hair.
She let it sooth her,
After all,
It was her namesake.

She waited.
For something they told her would never come.
For the friend she had lost.
For the freedom that had escaped her.
A freedom found only at night.

A clue. A hint. A warning.
Anything.
The mist was her only companion
As she stood, alone,
Hugging her bitter arms.
Waiting for the morning
And another day of waiting.