Share this story
Close X
Switch to Desktop Site


Night falls. Rustling trees whisper her arrival. Stealthily, she creeps over the earth, Flinging her cloak of darkness over the Sky. Punching star-holes in a tent of black, Polishing the moon to a silver shine, Until the sun's glowing rays Prod her on.

Follow Stories Like This
Get the Monitor stories you care about delivered to your inbox.