WA, Draft 2

Watchtower

She stands calmly at the edge of everything as the storm rolls in from the west. The clouds are frost-capped breakers, concealing a darker intent. The air is still. Waiting. She languishes in a sea of silence, undisturbed by the cries of birds. Ivy curls around her bulk, its tangled vines like clasped lovers hands.
Wool over her eyes obscures the skies. Now and then a ghostly hand punctures the darkness, rustling the grass like sheared strands of Rapunzel’s hair. A shining memory resonates within her, an iridescent soap bubble. The sound of a child’s voice.
“Daddy, look,” the girl sings, one stubby finger pointed at the sky. Her deep russet curls are slick with sweat and her silver eyes are bright. “God’s talking.”
A twig snaps in the brittle breeze, commanding her attention. She never wanted this. She wishes she could scream.
The chimes signal a warning, scattering her thoughts in the wind. She watches them twirl away, dancing arm in arm with the breeze. And as the last vestiges of her broken humanity recede from sight, she listens outside of Time for the whisper that will raze her to the ground. The echo of eternity alone.