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The night was thick, azure swallowed by tar. Some wind moved the treetops close by the forbidden lovers. Cathy dressed in sky-embracing blue stood next to Heithcliff. He was clad in servant’s cindered clothes. The two stood peering into the Linton Grange, mocking the light within. They laughed at the sport played with rackets inside. Those two freedom-loving friends laughed at their neighbour’s golden grandeur. Inside everything, and everyone did seem painted in golden light, free spirited in wealth.

Outside, where Heithcliff and Cathy stood mocking, and jesting, the night continued to live it own dark self.

“You should be glad,” Said the lustrous raven Cathy, laughing to Heithcliff “That you were not adopted into the Lintons.” Referring to the game played within; the Lintons passing a small sphere to one another by hitting it with small paddles.

“How ridiculous!” The two laughed. Heithcliff was the most mocking of the gilded light and life within.

They then laughingly ran from the window. Out in the nigh past the window of light ran fate on four legs, baring hungry teeth. In a blur of black confusion fate in the guise of a guarding dog bit down on Cathy. She was soon taken with a leg running scarlet over her cyan vestige.

The Lintons recognizing her took her into the Grange to nurse her from the wound received in darkness. They brought her into a light filled room, bring attention to the wound cause by a dog of their house.

Heithcliff, all this time panicked for his Lady’s safety. The Lintons however did not bother about his worries. To them he was no more than a servant, and too low to be admitted entrance into the fine house. They closed a heavy door on his face. Heithcliff was left paining for Cathy in the engulfing darkness. The generosity and the light filled world of the Lintons’ home embraced Cathy instead.

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