The Warmth Inside

It's cold out here, as I stand staring through the window with the image of the hearth-glow deepening my anxiety and need for warmth. I can only be, as I stand in the snow, the proud man, that wants to do what's right but can't see the opportunity that unfolds before him. But someone passes; a shadowy movement. It is the mistress of the home; captured is her beauty, radiant by the fire. She turns. I quickly hide, but again I peek. Hoping for a glance and invitation, another shadow appears. Quiet! The shadow lurks; something different. Something raised! And, then my heart stops! What? Why? The face turns from the fire. Horrifying! The face of death is me!