The moon was high in the sky, the stars glittering, the cold air brushing the nape of her neck. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, the weight grounding her. He would never find her. He would awake to her side of the bed unmade and cold, the morning sun caressing the creases where she had once laid. Her delicate laugh would dance through the air, her perfume riding the gentle breeze. The ghost of her would remain to haunt him, prodding at the cracks in his knuckles, the furrow in his brow, the bitterness in his heart, echoing his roars of anger back into his ears. But she, she was free. And even as she pushed through the thickest of forests, open space was all she could see.
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