The spider wove its web across the door. The spider, black and gold, sits still above the zig-zag on the web while Sarah, black and blue, stands tense before it, uncertain, frightened in either direction. She feels his breath on her shoulder. She feels his hand on her arm. If she jerks away, her hand will shoot into the web, become enwrapped in the silk. She feels her silk nightgown slip off her shoulder. His soft lips replace the soft fabric. She faints into his arms.
The web flutters in the breeze of the closing door. The garden spider sits, unmoved.
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