Disclaimer: Don't own any of the healing items/ summons/ jobs, those are Squaresofts. This is non-profit fun.

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"Come back at dead of night and speak to me,
You are too much a stranger here-
Come as you used to be,
And have no fear,
My dear."
"Ah no, that may not be,
To come so near
Is not for you and me."

"O tell me but one thing, for I must know
Or perish of the uncertainty-
Whisper it to me here,
That you are happy so
And we shall meet again." "Ah no,
My very dear.
I may not answer you,
Nor if I answered could you hear."

-The Two Societies, by John Hall Wheelock

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Slow with sleep, his eyes opened, the blurred haze gradually dissipating into clarity. He watched the figure sleeping next to him; a slight smile graced his lips. The glow of the morning sun drifting into the room from the lazily closed blinds where particles of dust danced in the light as it illuminated her porcelain face. In perfect modesty she had drawn the white sheets about her bosom, though her graceful arms rested outside of that barrier. The peaceful sound of her breathing lulled him into tranquil state, warm thoughts working into his mind dispelling the unpleasant feelings brought up by obscure nightmares.

Her long golden waves bundled like a mane about her face, shining with the light from the sun. He noticed a few wispy strains had fallen into her face, carefully he reached out and pulled them away. She obviously was very tired, and he did not want to disturb the serenity having her like this created. Yet his hand, with a mind of it's own, did not pull away from her, but instead ran lightly over the soft tresses to her bare shoulder. There he gingerly traced along the warm skin with his finger tips.

She took in a deep breath, languidly her eyes opened meeting his own, and slowly her face transformed with a warm smile. "Morning" The smile widened with the lovingly caressed whisper.

"Morning" he said huskily with a smile of his own, he let his hand rest on her shoulder only stroking her skin affectionately with his thumb.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked softly, she was simply stunning to him.

His eyes closed briefly as he shook his head. The smile changed into a boyish smirk when his eyes reopened, "But I woke up well."

She let out a light, airy giggle, her teeth flashing in a delightful smile that made his heart dance. His hand trailed up to cup her cheek, gently silencing her without meaning too. She bent her head into his palm, rubbing her cheek against his callused fingers, simply loving his touch. Her beautiful emerald eyes rolled up to his tender gaze, twinkling and smiling like warm sunshine.

"This was how it was supposed to be, huh?"

Her sweetly asked question caught him off guard. A bitter taste entered his mouth, he swallowed hard to wash it away, but it didn't leave.

"Yeahit was." The pained words fell slowly from his mouth.

She only smiled more, radiantly glowing in beauty from the morning sun, "Oh Ashen" she said in a scolding yet comforting tone, looking into him with those eyes. Shifting closer to him, she laid her head on his bare chest, wrapping her arms around his firm waist. He likewise embraced her, one hand caressing the soft skin of her back while the other intertwined in her hair. He breathed in her scent deeply, closing his eyes at the warmth of her body against his.

Opening his heavy lids once more he noticed that the surroundings had changed and the only thing on his chest was his own hand. This was reality, his harsh cruel reality. And Aleura would not be here to make it all better; he was alone.

~***~

Ashen awoke again, this time from intangible dark images. His red eyes trailed the odd room that lacked any familiarity, wondering among many things how he could allow himself to fall to sleep in such a uncertain place.

The walls were made of dark colored stone, oddly shaped painted characters covered both the walls and ceiling. It was dimly lit with flickering light, a fire and a few lamps he deduced. All the bits of sparse furniture were home made with wood and bits of scrap metal, with feathers, burlap, or animal pelts for decoration. Even he was resting on a feather stuffed bed with a burlap sack for a pillow and a deer skin blanket. A pungent aroma filled his nostrils; incense, not like the monastery's sweet jasmine incense, but a harsh odor. And smoke, like that of a cigarette but heavier because it lingered nearer to him.

Ashen attempted to sit up and succeeded, though he was sore and stiff. Glancing down he noted he was still in his clothes though they were even more tattered, dirty, and blood stained then he last remembered them being. His leather jacket in the same shape, hung on the wood and metal bedpost.

"Ah! You've finally decided to wake up, have you?" Ashen's eyes shot to the left, where the aged nasally voice came from.

There beside the bed, on a floating ball of scrap metal that sparked a little at each looping tube connected to it, threading strings of smoke by use of a nargile attached to the ball was a little old man. He was half Ashen's size and clothed in a balled and threadbare hooded robe. His long stringy white and gray hair was twice the length of the similar colored beard and mustache occupying the area below his nose, around his chin, and down. His pale wrinkled face was obscured by the beady black goggles that covered his eyes and rested on his big nose.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," the sarcastic tone was muffled by the agizlik in his mouth.

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AN: Hiya all! *waves * Well another week another chapter. Okay I actually have things to say this week. First the poem is an interesting story; it was a serendipitous moment I tell you (you as in you who are reading this, not you as in an individualwow I sound crazy).

I was in the library of my college, ditching my class, when the instructor comes walking down the stairs. Call it a jerk reaction, but I ducked into forest of bookshelves to hide from her would be questioning gaze. I finally stop when I found how deep into this literary forest I was. With nothing better to do I skim the book covers, it seems I was in the poetry section. I figure, hey, I could use another poem for Ghost.' So I pick up some random book of poems and the first page I open it to had the poem stated above. It really fit so perfectly, so I had to put it in.

Second thing I have to talk on, VOCAB! Okay for those who don't know a Nargile is a hookah, if you've seen Alice in Wonderland (the animated Disney movie) then it's what Mr. Catapillar is smoking from. It's like a big water pipe with a tube and mouthpiece that you smoke dark Iranian tobacco from (if you're a good respectful person). Each piece of a hookah has a different name and the Agizlik is the mouthpiece. Ehehe, I had to do research for this online, has this WHOLE rules thing to just smoking from a hookah. So I tried to follow the rules as best I could to make it look like the character knows what he's doing, but also not to offend professional smokers who use a hookah often. Please forgive me, I know he has the sacred nargile above ground, don't kill me?

Anywho, that's all thanks for reading this week's chapter, don't forget to review! See you next week I hope.