oneword: balcony

She stands there under the oppressive cloak of night, high above the earth, the roots, the origin of growth. The moon, the inconstant moon, which used to be her beacon for beauty, truth, and love, high-tailed it out of there, out of her life. So fast, in fact, that she can't tell where it once was, shining brilliantly over her, illuminating the land, the journey stretched out before her. It used to show her the way, its mystical magic bringing her comfort and peace. But now it's gone. Gone. And all she has left is the memory of its power over her as she leans over the edge and waits.