Night Sense

The smell of night is a curious thing. It is deep and black and musky, Smelling of blood and rot and mystery. But it is calming, that darkness. Night is blinding. In the shade you see no scars. No ugly, no rusted out, burned through heaps of junk and metal and hate. The touch of dark is a fickle thing. One day it will be soft, embraceable... The next it is cold, sharp, a knife in ribs, twisting, digging deeper until flesh is gone and all is bone and frozen, dying soul. Night is a freeing thing.