The night was cold, frigid with an evening chill.
Two shadows emerge under the moonlit tapestry of the twinkling hosts.
Lucille walks along a pebble strewn pathway. Even with her hand warmed by Kirk's, she could feel the thin crisp air circling around her auburn locks of hair. Lucille relishes these late night walks with Kirk. Mesmerized by Kirk's features complimented by the moon's glow, a voice whispers in her head "Could Lucille wish for anything more?"
The frivolous banter that coupled the two made all clutter just dissipate.
The night was cold, frigid with an evening chill.
A shadow emerges. The blade of the hatchet reflected the moonlit tapestry of the twinkling hosts.
Not even the gnawing cold of the night could blanket the hate screaming out of the his eyes.
His loathe directed at the figure courting his wife.
I like the turn at the end. You have a good feel for the dramatic :)
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