He's coming, she thought as she stood before the mirror. Her gown, a gift, lightly embraced her shoulders as the delicate organza of its ruffles were caught up in a chill breeze that raced over her porcelain skin. Her pulse, quickened by the now strengthening wind from the shadows, brought new blood to her cheeks, brightening the cat-like emerald of her eyes, deepening the midnight of her raven hair. The gown slid from the gentle curve of her neckline by some airy hand. She felt herself grow weak in anticipation. Steadying herself on her dressing table, she waited for him, her teacher. He's coming.