Lightly robed she made her way 'cross the parlor with laundry bin at hand. The basket dropped to the tiled floor when she reached her destination. A gentle hum swept through the air from her mouth while a mechanical rumble quickly drowned it. Two by two miscellaneous articles slipped out from the water and crammed their way in the drier machine. As she finished the transference, she let loose her auburn hair, slightly wet, and tossed the towel she used to keep it perched.

The cyclic swishing and swashing had her nauseous should she stay too long. So like quick she left. And the figure made haste when returning to the library. She relaxed her slim thighs on an over-sized, Elizabethan-styled piece of furniture and removed her novel from its place, the little hand-carved stool beside her. And with that, she curled her legs in a petite fashion, fitted her soft and feathery robe, and prepared her glassy, grey eyes for their reading session.

Light seeped through the thick curtains when she had entered, but now was scarcely recognizable. The grandfather clock struck, causing her to start. Her head shifted to it. The marvelous clock proudly read five o' clock. Eyes strained, she set her novel down again, and flitted across the hall. As steps left grew smaller, she heard the machine stop then start to sing of its accomplishment in a loud tone, which she abruptly ended before some seconds.

The telephone began its own song and had her rushing to pick it up. "Hello, you've reached Sharon."
"..."
"I'm sorry?"
"..."
"You must have the wrong number. Goodbye." Slightly frazzled, Sharon brought down the phone quick, and even more rapid brought it back. She dialed her fiancé and he now spoke.
"Hey, Share, how are you?"
"Tom? Could you spend the night?"
"You feeling a little energetic?"
"No, no. It's just--being alone and all."
"Of course, I'll be over soon."

Soon enough, Tom and Sharon lay huddled in the den, Sharon nested in his arms. They flipped through channels like turning pages of an encyclopedia, looking for something. Tom shifted his hand slightly, softly arousing Sharon. He brought her nearer and let his lips push her neck, a nuzzle, like a creature playing. She squeezed. He squeezed in return. It was atmospherically splendid.

Coupled now in the library, on that Elizabethan-styled couch, they lay not-so-prostrate tangled and wrapped in each other's presence. Sharon meticulously raised the stitched sweater up and made her way around Tom's chest. "I thought you said this isn't why you called." Sharon would not have fear and stifled a worried tremble. "I guess I lied," before two smiles united. The curtain fell.

With maneuvers they were able to reach the bed's dwelling, though their clothing did not. And like lions they fiercely fought each other, tastefully. But so suddenly, too fast, done. Sharon caught Tom's arm and wore it to keep warm. He flexed his skinny arms and she purred, then rested her auburn mane on Tom's brisk neck. He rounded his opened arm and placed it over Sharon's grasp, putting her in a grip. "Feeling safe?" And again.
"Stop it, Tom. There's no reason I shouldn't feel safe."
"I agree." Sharon slid another robe out from her wardrobe.
"Don't I get one?"
"I only have two." She smiled. "I'll guess you'll have to go get the other one from downstairs."
He showed her a look and jolted, nude.

Sharon dragged across the carpet near the window and looked beyond, into the cool dark. God strategically placed the stars in Sharon's line of view that night; all over they shown. She placed her gaze downward and then flew backwards, blasted and completely blown by what stood so near to hear, only a story's distance: a lioness, daunting.

Nay, this was no feline. Even dark its grey contrasted from that of the average--yellow--lion. As well, her eyes glowed scarlet. Claws shined and giggled at Sharon's petite figure. The odd beast--no--not a lioness, was perched atop Tom's car and gazed straight to Sharon's soul. She'd have been less terrified if the monster let out a roar or licked a paw. But no, it stood.

Her light head on narrow shoulders seemed to vanish entirely; Sharon nearly passed but held with some might. Turning to her door, throat burning and eyes wrenching out tears, she yelled. The sound released as a whisper. "Tom." There was no reply. Sharon lifted her voice now and tried again, "Tom."

She tiptoed her feet toward the door once more. The wood creaked under her toes as Sharon fought not to burst. And all her organs in their entirety fell out her rear when her eyes went down next. The grey-skinned, red-eyed mutant who stared at her for what seemed an age, no longer stood. Only Tom's stationed car. And the worst? Tom's stationed car. Tom?

Hadn't it been for increased vulnerability, Sharon would have plummeted to the floor. Hadn't it been for lack of oxygen, Sharon would have howled in anxiety. Instead, she hardened. Sense of direction departed a time ago. Like stone, she only wanted to tip and swing to the hard ground, smashing into thousands of bits. Then adrenaline. Sharon's heart doubled in size, her throat released a curdling blast of frequency, and through a mole of teardrops and sweat marbles she let loose Pandora's box, sprinting through the hall for Tom.

"Tom!" she roared breathless.
"My God! Damn it, don't do things like that!" Tom started from the stairs. He proceeded to screen Sharon more carefully, a mess.
"Baby, what happened?" he spread his arms.
She had nothing more contained but simply collapsed in Tom's arms in a fuss. "You're alive."
"Of course I am, now come on, you need some rest. Let's get to bed. He cradled her suavely to the room and set her under the covers. She was so weary her tears blinded her; Tom looked distorted and taller. He crawled under and their back and chest met. The lights went out.

Again, Sharon started. She peered through the darkness. Suddenly, her mind drew out those awful and eery red eyes. They glowed bright and strong. She clenched Tom's arm and turned to face him. They met at the lip but Tom's seemed swollen. She drew back and found them. Red eyes and a purr.