The man stood outside the window, breath turning to fog on the cool glass. The snow from the day before had melted, as it always did at that time of year, but it would be back. It was only a matter of time. And once the snow came, the man couldn't come to the window anymore. He let himself relax and enjoy his last binge before starvation.

The girl moved slowly, gracefully, as though she was dancing. She shifted her hair back from her neck, strands of muted gold gleaming in the light of the single lamp behind her. Her eyes were fixed to the wall, distant, contemplating, even as a small smile crept over her lips.

Something cracked in the bushes behind the man, and he jumped, startled like an animal, ready to bolt. Tense, he waited in silence for a moment before temptation reclaimed his attention.

Her shirt was already off, presumably crumpled on the floor somewhere by her lovely feet, exposing the taunt, silky skin of her stomach and breasts to the night. Her voluptuous curves balanced perfectly with hard muscle, and edges and planes of her body caught the light as she moved.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to remain still, to remain quiet.

Long, elegant fingers worked at the fly of her jeans, and then she slid them off, bending and curving sensuously as she carefully withdrew each leg. Her toenails were painted bright pink. The girl lifted the jeans with one graceful sweep of her hand and let them fall in front of her, denim swishing through the air. Her undergarments were the next to go, pale hidden flesh dancing against the dark.

He was panting now, and he forced himself to keep his heavy-gloved hands against the wall, and not down, not where they wanted to go. Later, he could, and would, where there was less of a chance of being seen. But the thought barely made it through the clouds of lust drifting idly through his mind. She was so beautiful.

She slid into her bed, drawing the sheets up around her, beatific face turned heavenward.

He knew things about her, so many things. He knew where she went to school, what car she drove, what her mother looked like. He knew that she sung lullabies to herself when the wind blew fiercely, and danced when it rained. But that knowledge paled in comparison to what his heart knew. She was a gift from God, an angel, sent to brighten his graying life. She was all that was good, and all that was clean and beautiful and sweet, and she was his. He was intoxicated.

The light clicked off, and he left slowly, the wonderful things he knew rolling through his thoughts as gracefully as her joints rolled when she moved.

But he didn't know one thing.

The girl could see him.