behind the glass

Her bedroom shelters her from the storm.

Silken cherry strands fall over glassy blue eyes. Thick lashes bat. Petite shoulders rise and fall and a breath is released.

She clings to a curtain and her gaze breaks through a window stained with raindrops.

The night whispers to her tales of cascading water and rumbling skies, and she whispers back with her icy air shudders. Aqua bullets kiss the windowpane and slip and disappear into the dirt, and everything will happen all over again.

Like a painting, like a masterpiece in the making, the contour of a face slowly appears behind the glass. The redheaded girl draws back, but is propelled forward as curiosity overlaps shock.

Colors slowly flood the face. Water licks against the barrier. Light cinnamon skin. Chocolate spikes. A pair of swirling, gleaming sapphires… blinking, kindly blinking, with a dash of sadness.

"Hello."

Her voice is a heavenly melody slicing into the devilish, orchestrated storm. A clack of lightning pierces into her soft words. Words doused in innocence.

His lips move, no sound emits. A sentence is shaped: I haven't forgotten my promise.

A gloved hand appears behind the window. Its fingers grasp a trinket glimmering mightier than the rain reflected in the moonlight. The hand reaches through the window, ghostlike in movement, transparent and gas-like, easily passing through the glass and the girl is drenched in amazement.

He drops the trinket upon the girl's lap. Their eyes connect. An understanding.

His mouth forms his final words, and the little redhead absorbs them.

He smiles. His cinnamon skin, his chocolate spikes, his swirling sapphires— fade.

"Goodbye," she whispers.

The object in her lap is purple and silver and star-shaped. A face and a crown, etched into it. Scratched, clearly used excessively, as if it had been caught in some sort of battle.

The bedroom door squeaks open. Footsteps.

"You're still awake?"

A light voice, full of Light. A motherly voice.

"I couldn't sleep," the young redhead admits. A moment of silence. Bright blue eyes collide with bright blue eyes. Little hands hold the star shape, and she offers it to her mother.

The young woman's words are whispery, hushed: "Where did you get this…? Who gave this to you?"

The questions hang in the cold air like a dreamcatcher above a troubled sleeper's bed. Delicate, spinning slowly.

"The boy behind the glass," the daughter replies, gesturing toward the window.

The mother approaches the window, pressing a hand against the frigid glass smeared with water droplets. No. He died in battle. He's gone. How could he…

She is very close to the window now, her forehead pressing against it, her eyes shut, her breaths slightly clouding over the glass.

"He said he didn't forget his promise," the daughter continues. She is a miniature version of her mother, bearing the traits of silken vermilion hair and sparkling, wide oceanic eyes. The only contrast is their tone of skin; her mother is pale whilst she is a lovely cinnamon shade.

"Did…" The mother's voice breaks as a tear escapes and glides down her cheek. She tries again, cradling the charm in her quivering fingers. "He didn't say anything else, did he?"

The daughter nods.

"He said that he's not gone… that… he's always with you."