She ends up somewhere between there and not quite yet. The storm calls to something primal inside; the same thing that had her dancing under lightning filled skies until she was old enough to be afraid. It’s strange, she thinks, how you get more afraid as the years go by. If anything you should be less fearful because you’ve already lived so much. The older you get the less there is to miss out on. She knows that’s just part of the story and neither here nor there, but a spot of fancy is needed right now.
The wind has turned to whisper, low and seductive. If she goes out, she will be right in the eye of the storm. That is her stronghold, but what’s the fun in being safe? The moment passes, the eye is gone and fire crosses the sky. She smiles at the dancing flashes; they seem to her a mixture between game and a mating dance. Or perhaps they are the same. She knows the moment before she decides to move; it is marked by a heavy feeling in her head and warmth swiftly followed by cooling sweat. As the rain sets in she runs outside, raising her arms and dancing underneath the tumultuous skies. The rain kisses her lips and she kisses back. She is not safe, speaks the rumbling thunder, but at last -she feels alive.
