The night air is thick with secrets - the dark navy sky hangs low and heavy above the minarets and blushing dust rooftops, pinned down with a million twinkling stars. The twisting labyrinthine alleyways are usually quiet, the souk owners have long since packed away their piles of spices, powdered dyes, dried rosebuds and brilliant sequinned blankets. Intricate lanterns spill gentle rainbow candlelight through their glass panes onto an ornately patterned brass door. The door swings open and she hurries out tiptoeing around corners, her face hidden by a sheer scarf. She melts into the night until all that is left is a trace of musky perfume and the faint chiming of tiny coins around her ankles.