A soft music emanated from beyond the stairs. The dimly lit corridor basked in whatever dull light it could capture this evening, illuminating the little copper cut numbers which were pressed into polished oakwood of the heavy set doors that lined the walls like ecclesiastical gothic paintings. The hanging candelabras above the stairs swayed slightly, as if pressed to motion by some un-seen, unfelt wind, though the corridor didn’t seem to have any windows or other portals by which such an imaginary concept may enter or leave – the only way forward was up the crimson carpeted steps.
At the end of his ascension, a wide oak double door confronted the space. Two copper handles gleamed in the light, they acted as something between inviting and foreboding for one seeking to enter the room beyond. He looked around. The soft slow jazz was much louder now and it seemed to him as if the doors in the corridor he had just departed were whispering to each other sweet silences in the warm September evening air. Finally, he pushed open the double doors with an almost self-congratulatory flourish of his hands.
The sight he saw somewhat surprised him, though he was not sure what he expecting. The room was largely empty; a few room low tables were dotted around, a handful of padded chairs, clusters of high stools - an empty bar, it seemed. A single large window was the source of all and any light in this room. A young woman stood; her hand pressed into the glass. Her long waves of tatty raven hair fell around her, her pale skin and black dress shone almost artificially in the light.
“Excuse me,” he said softly, not wishing to startle her. She didn’t turn to look at him. “Excuse me, Miss, but I was – “
“Just as the end of the day brings a glorious night, the end of the summer brings me you.” She turned slowly as she spoke.
“I’m sorry?” he questioned.
“It is the end of summer; it is entirely appropriate that you should be here.