The banshee wailed as the Full Moon shone brightly overhead. Extended shadows crept ever so slowly forwards, as they were as alive as everything else. Creeping vines from an unknown number of plants nearby reached out, trying to grab whatever they could.
The banshee leapt between vine and shadow alike, dancing. She was nimble and agile. They were restricted and limited.
Clouds started to obscure the light of the Moon, diminishing the power of the shadows considerably. No light no shadows. Vines retreated, almost consciously.
The banshee wailed as the first raindrop struck her forehead. Then the next, and the next. She relished the freshness of the elements. The mixed aroma of earth and rain sent her somewhat into a frenzy. She was wild and free, and never more so than at this present moment.
She was invigorated.
She was also hungry.
Soon, she would feed. But first, she would dance a little longer.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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