The Girl by the RiverThe Girl by the River
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He sees her by the river.
She lies unmoving, listening to the roar of the waterfall. A water nymph perhaps, or something from a dream. Is she such stuff as dreams are made on? The fabric of a muse the ancient poets drink for inspiration? Her hair cascades down her back, a single peony flower pinned to her hair. He wonders who or what she waits for, sees the solemn secret hidden in her eyes.
When she moves it is with the fluidity of water. The crimson folds of her kimono tease him with glimpses of creamy flesh, of pale skin.
“I know you’re there,” she says, voice elusive, alluring.
His heart thunders. He’s been caught staring. He can’t look away.
She grips her sword, he grips his chest. She’s done something to him…but what? She smiles softly, innocently. Like water, her eyes erode the walls around his heart. She put out the flame of passion, makes the earth move under his feet. She is