Lullaby
k.l.
Note: Apologies in advance, it has been some time since I've written anything and putting words to the idea... I did not do it justice.
Aurora woke with a start. Upon her chest sat a weight. It coupled with the hands about her throat were robbing her of air.
Her instincts brought her arms up. They led them to claw and thrash wildly at the unseen assailant. Yet no matter the effort, they found no purchase. No satisfaction. No air.
Tears stung the edges of her eyes. After all she had seen – all she had experienced – this was how she would go? As helpless as the day she was born, without a goodbye to be made?
"Princess."
A voice – familiar, soft, soothing and yet just out of reach.
"Princess."
A cool material pressed to her brow, its presence alleviating the pressure from upon her chest and dissolving the searing prints that had etched their presence upon her pallor skin.
"Princess, wake up."
As if the key to unlocking her slumber Aurora found her eyes open, the world about her blurring in and out for several moments.
A dream.
When her vision returns in its entirety Aurora seeks out the one whose voice she can now place.
Kneeling beside her is Mulan, concern marring her facial features. "Should I wake Snow?" She asks quietly, her gaze momentarily flickering to a point not far in the distance, her body angling away she looks to rise.
If she should leave, fear settles in Aurora that her lungs will cease to function. That the unseen force of recent will return and finish what it started. And perhaps it's irrational, and to some degree selfish, but she won't allow Mulan to leave. She can't.
But perhaps Mulan knows this - can sense this - for she never truly rises, hesitant, as though waiting for some form of assurance that this action is the correct action to take. That this action is what Aurora desires most. Or perhaps she is hesitant due to the crushing grip Aurora is currently applying to her hand. Whatever the reason may be, Mulan does not leave, and for that Aurora breathes a heavy sigh of relief.
Moments pass in relatively silence; the only noise that of Mulan settling into a seated position next to her and of the wildlife around them. It is calming, yet somewhat unsettling. Aurora shifts her body, as though doing so will chase away the uncomfortable sensation she can feel inching toward her spine.
Then as quickly as it came, the sensations are gone and by what Aurora is stunned.
It's soft. Gentle. And like every action Mulan makes it is elegant and perfect.
What the melody may be, Aurora knows not, for it is sung in a language she does not understand. But what she does understand is that this song- whatever it may be - was made for Mulan and Mulan for it and all Aurora can do is continue to observe in awe.
All too soon Aurora can feel the lids of her eye droop and no matter how hard she fights they continue their downward descent. She doesn't wish to sleep. What she wishes for is to stay with Mulan. To capture each note - each word - and commit them with each expression to memory.
Warmth blossoms from the tip of her forefinger that quickly spreads to fill her chest then toes. Through the haze Aurora can see the source of the warmth - a hand tenderly holding hers, silk lips pressing delicate kisses to the worn skin of her fingertips.
The melody never once flounders and as she drifts in and out of consciousness Aurora feels things she believed lost.
She feels peace.
She feels safety.
She feels purpose.
But most of all, as she feels lips pressed to her brow, Aurora feels loved and as she gives way to sleep she knows nothing will harm her again.