Panic was her master again. Her muscles tensed again. And the hand rested there, on the inside of her naked leg again, only higher then before. She no... knew what would happen. It would move further up. It would touch her. She knew without a doubt. And knowing made her feel a bit more at ease. No not at ease, less restless. It made her feel less restless. And once more the tension of her muscles broke. The hand moved up, as she knew it would. Then it paused. It gripped her leg. A firm grip, yet. The violin beckoning gently as it unwound, rising and tensing. It spiraled upward soothing his hunger with its lovely melody. She saw him first through her kitchen window while quietly setting about making herself a cup of tea. She was a delicate image of a young woman with unassuming long brown hair and soft tiny freckles that sprinkled over her upturned nose. His pale face appeared at the window, smiled at her and vanished. Some people stare at her. She is an almost hopelessly beautiful. More

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