Night falls. The stars, if still they shine, glimmer in secret,
hidden behind
scudding, roiling, grasping clouds. A gibbous
moon throws a weary green light across the
turning world,
casting the alleyways and avenues in shadows the color of
decaying
Kryptonite. Somewhere in the sinister gloaming,
half-seen descending a stairway or stealing across
a street,
minions of an unknown power set some as-yet
unguessed-at plan in motion. Fear
it, Ophelia.
