Nightfall by T. Jackson

It was 7:06 on a Sunday night. 

The guards were posted, the barn closed, and the horses had settled easily into rest. 

Only I remained awake, the lamp still lit in my bedroom as the house fell quiet around me.

The village lay silent— far off in the distance, the owl sang into the night.

I tried to enjoy the stillness, to let it calm my thoughts.

The flicker

of the flame caught my eye, its glow filling the corner of the room, its dance nearly pulling me into a trance.

A walk to the garden? 

I thought, hoping it might stir something restless in me.

The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, the bedroom lamp held tight in my palms. 

Cool air brushed my toes as I moved through the house, admiring how the paint shimmered beneath the dancing flame.

The night’s shadow crept close behind as dreams clawed toward the light. 

The moon guided the rest of my path, gravel breaking the silence as I neared the stone walkway. Fresh air kissed my face with instant calm, allowing the moon to mend what was broken— letting night bring peace until the sun rises.