The night air outside the club hit with a cool, damp bite, smelling faintly of ozone and impending rain. I stepped out onto the polished concourse, pulling my collar up against the chill, my boots clicking softly against the glass-like floor. The neon-lit towers of the upper district towered into the overcast fog above, casting long, electric-blue ribbons of light across the wet pavement.
Then I saw her.
Standing right in the center of the walkway, completely unbothered by the late-hour quiet or the looming storm, was a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a high-society gala from three centuries ago—or perhaps another realm entirely.
She wore an extravagant, flowing gown made of sheer, iridescent pink silk that shimmered with hues of crimson and rose under the district’s blue luminescents. Her wide-brimmed hat, an intricate sculpture of delicate petals and crimson berries, cast soft shadows over her sharp, striking features. She held a glass of red wine casually in one hand, balancing a deep red leather handbag in the other, standing barefoot on the wet, reflective tile without a care in the world.
For a moment, nobody moving past seemed to register how surreal the scene was. The few late-night commuters hurry-walking toward the transit lines kept their heads down, tuned into their wrist comms, completely oblivious to the walking contradiction standing right in their path.
I stopped near the edge of the promenade, leaning against the cold railing just to make sure the drinks from inside hadn’t started playing tricks on my eyes.
I stood there for a long time watching the light catch the edges of her dress before turning down the concourse toward home. Some nights in the city just leave you with questions you know you’ll never get answered.
Ghost in Rose and Crimson
"I stepped out of that neon maze, looking for some quiet... found something else."
Ozone, damp, it hung so heavy, the sky a bruised, wet stone
Pulled my collar, boots on polished glass, walking to be alone
The city's blue veins pulsed and bled, high above the ground
A thousand voices plugged right in, but not a single sound.
Some nights, the city keeps its hand close to its chest
Leaving you with riddles, and a cold, hollow unrest
A ghost in rose and crimson, standing in the fray
Questions you'll be asking 'til the break of day.
Saw her standing, center stage, on that cold reflective street
Barefoot on the mirrors, ignoring the incoming sleet
A vision out of time, or from some ancient, velvet dream
A contradictions perfect flower, caught in a blue light beam.
A hat of petals, berries deep, shading her strong, sharp grace
A flowing gown of iridescence, glowing all over the place
Wine glass high, handbag low, just waiting for the rain
A high-society secret, unburdened by our pain.
The shadow people hurried past, their worlds on their wrist-bound screens
Oblivious to the ancient queen, and the meaning of her means
I leaned against the iron rail, just to check my own damn eyes
Hoping my drinks weren’t playing tricks, under those blue city skies.
Like she felt the weight of my slow, deliberate stare
She turned her head, a knowing smile, just hanging in the air
Took a sip, so calm and long, then looked back at the light
Left me watching, wondering, until I melted with the night.
Some nights, the city keeps its hand close to its chest
Leaving you with riddles, and a cold, hollow unrest
A ghost in rose and crimson, standing in the fray
Questions you'll be asking 'til the break of day.
Turned for home, the rain began, a slow and steady beat
Leaving all that grace and wonder, standing on the street
A contradiction in a blue light, a story you can't tell
A question I will carry... until I hear that final bell.
