It isn't that she liked the wet, really. It was just that she couldn't keep herself from dancing in the rain. Flashes of moonlight made it through the misty clouds; spotlights on her dance that was really a prayer to the heavens. Spin, step, spin, twist, step, twirl once more. Her dance was the same as every other, and her mind, for once, wasn't somewhere distant and cold. She was here. This was real.
The boy tried to stop her, of course. He said she'd get sick, and he himself didn't like the wet. Imperiously, she looked and him and said she preferred the dark, coldness of reality than his warm hands and dreamland.
At once, she awoke in his arms. The rain was thundering on the glass panes. Quietly, she extracted herself from his warm arms that had all the promise of tomorrow and better days. The night magick drew her away, into the rain, into the dance.
Oddly, it was better. It was then that she knew. She'd never return to the boy, although he'd search for her forever. Eventually, he'd grow to hate her. Still, somewhere deep inside himself, he'd be searching for her in the face of every lover he'd have.
Secure in this knowledge, the girl threw herself into the sky, and never came back down.