She really loves storms, except when they blow on the branches of the tree outside her window and scare her. Someone is coming inside her window, and the fact that she's on the second floor doesn't matter. Maybe someone is coming in her bedroom door, even though she would have heard them on the stairs. She pauses her music, Mazzy Star, and listens. Listens. Listens. It's as silent as a room full of people who just heard on offensive joke, and That's pretty damn silent. She returns to her Mazzy Star and writing journal. More wind and rain and thunder and more branches throwing themselves at her window. Click clack crash smash. A low whistle pushes its way through her window pane, a melodic and soulful whistle. The wind never sounded so beautiful.

She pauses her music and listens.
Listens. Listens.