Who: Bianca and anyone.
Where: Brooklyn Bridge
When: A few hours into the AM.
Rating: TBA

The lights came first.

Twin jets, their intensity muddled by the light fog that rolled over the infamous Brooklyn Bridge. The cars that came were few and far between, for the hour was late enough to coax most New Yorkers into bed, especially tonight, a Wednesday, when few are tempted by the promise of waning hours.

The lights came first, and the sounds came next -- the dull roar of a car’s engine and the doppelganger effect that came with its passing. Ebb and flow, ebb and flow, like the dark waters that wrapped around the steel legs of the bridge. And yet the lonely cars, few as they were, were not the only ones passing over the bridge. Through the gentle puff of fog moved another figure -- a figure obscured by the encompassing mist -- whose slender legs led her along the bridge’s ledge in a slow, swinging saunter, her tall pumps removed and loosely held in each hand. A jaunty melody followed her, drifting through the air soft but well-recited.

A phantom perhaps? One of the countless souls whose desperation long ago lured them over the steel rails? While a few cars concernedly slowed, a glance from her heavy-lidded, opal-hued eyes seemed to bid late-night voyagers to continue forth and leave her, even while her full mouth lay pleasantly curled in an elusive smile.