Ankyra Sound Judah sees a ghost

The spectre watches with eyes at war with each other, the sun’s desperate light and the moon’s quiet aura.

She turns to him, the deep blue of a cave’s water at war with the sharp magenta of a dianthus. Tears mat her fur, her face a mask of wry desperation. Blossom inhales like the specter of death itself.

Why do people have to hurt? She croaks into the night air, sea breezes ripping at the fur of her cheeks