The Watcher by the Narcissus

One early morning in the winter of 1993, the mist was like a fairy's gauze skirt, lingering in the quiet mountain village. It seemed that it would drift away with just the touch of a fingertip. The cold sun shines slantly on the scattered adobe houses through the thin sky. The sunlight and the light mist intertwine to create a different kind of light and shadow. Every adobe house, every ray of sunshine, every mist seems to have found its own place in this ink painting. The silence was broken by a woman's sudden cry for help. The sound was like a cold blade, tearing a hole in the mist and sunshine of the winter morning. The panic and fear on the woman's face instantly stirred in the air like ice touching hot oil. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.