She.

She was bold. Strong, a fighter with chopped up hair. Her wild roaming eyes glinted with kohl as she ran under moonlight. I watched as I saw the arch of her back, and the growling moan draw out from her alike to a sigh. Watched as her wrath filled body twisted and turned along Forgate Street.

 I watched often, did I. I was a watcher, a ghost in a shallow constraining room, behind the glass panel, the arched window. My eyes deeply carved black circles and my senses to the quality any good hunters should be. Yet I has been constrained. Tugged at, pushed away, from her, from my realm. Restricted from reaching the cobbled path. 

Dagger through the heart.

 Watching gave a sense of something to me yet still.  And though chained to chains I maybe in a few seconds would feel like I could see again. Watching, the best inspiration to me. I'd taste it, see it, almost touch. Freedom was still out there for me.