Write a story about Gargoyles coming to life at night in an ancient land . Winner gets an orchestral piece written about it ! [ WP ]

We started a fight last night, just before daybreak, after we'd returned to our roost high atop Notre Dame. It was the same fight we always have. She told me I was acting distant. I looked out over the city, imagined people stirring, slipping their feet into their slippers and starting their days. A baker, a cooper, a politician sleeping in on his pillowy mattress. Normal days for normal people. The ordinary strifes, the meager victories and humbling defeats. Ours was ordinary strife as well, I thought, nothing to trouble myself over. 
 
 Dawn was glowing orange and pink in the eastern sky. We did n't have time for a fight, not now. Soon, our wings would be stone, our scaly flesh a latticework of chiseled granite. This fight would have to wait until dusk. 
 
 Now dusk is settling in, blue and purple, the last wisps of fiery sunset fading in the west. I can feel blood pumping through my wings, and a softening of my rocky carapace. I open my eyes and turn to her, eager for resolution after a day spent stewing over what I thought was a minor quibble. Her body is still stone. She's sleeping in, pouting. I leap from the ledge and spread my wings wide. I soar over the Seine, letting my clawed feet drag in the water behind me. I'll catch a couple rats, bring one to her for breakfast. A small gesture to resolve a small spat. 
 
 I return with the rats and she's gone. I land on the ledge and wait, listening to the chirping of crickets. I eat my rat. I wait. I wait more. I eat her rat, too. Looking out over this mysterious city, I listen for the sound of wings beating the hot summer night air. I listen for her cry. A young couple is walking on a cobblestone street below me. They're drunk: full to their tops with life and love. And I'm waiting. And I'm waiting.
