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36: Comfort
When he came into the room, she was sprawled on the bed, weeping as if her heart was breaking. He regarded her for a moment, then crossed the room, knelt beside the bed and gently stroked her head. He kissed her cheek and, removing his gloves, rubbed her back.
She turned her head and met his gaze. Tears were blurring her eyes, but she had stopped sobbing, and was merely hiccupping a bit.
He sat on the bed beside her and transformed into a small owl.
The owl marched back and forth on the bed. It chirruped and purred. It nibbled at her sleeve and pulled at the fabric. It fluffed its feathers up mightily and stomped about. The owl caught her eye and scooted backward as it spread its wings.
When the owl took a pratfall off the bed, she chuckled a bit. When its head popped up over the edge of the bed with feathers askew, she laughed.
The owl transformed back into her lover.
He sat down again and placed his hand on her shoulder.
"I wish I could make it all better, Precious," he said.
"Close enough, Babe," she said, and patted his knee.
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Why is she crying? Doesn't matter. Life is full of sorrows that create a need for comforting. This was one of them.