Musebox

"Spike? Dru's voice, as soft as it is, drifts through the night air from where she's perched on a grave stone. Call it stereotypical but Dru finds the graveyard, the smell of death and decay, quite comforting. But tonight, she's not looking down, not sniffing the wilting flowers or tracing her fingers over long forgotten names. Instead, her eyes are fixed on the skies, on the bright, twinkling stars far above the earth. She almost smiles, her face twitching into a day dream as she sways.

"Do you see them too? The pretty patterns. They're winking at us, you know?"