Tucked into the corner where the two sections of the couch meet, she listens to his voice. His timbre blends with the roll of thunder. He reads of apprehension as characters frolic amidst an ominous house. Outside, the clouds build, casting away the daylight.
It begins slowly, a few intermittent plinks against the window. Then, during a pause of his breath, the sky cracks like a recoiling whip, and the deluge floods her view. The wind twists the trees as though they are rubber. Their bare branches claw at the glass.
She pulls her blanket up, and he continues reading.