I've been thinking long and hard about how I want this story to unfold. I think I had a little inspiration after a well-needed bubble bath. And even though this chapter might be a little short, I needed to get this one out tonight.

Thank you to all of the reviewers so far. I appreciate the encouragement!

Chapter 3

It was the faintest of sounds that awoke her. But the sound was so rich, she could not help but pull herself from the depths of sleep. A gentle, deep humming could be heard. She felt her eyelash brush against something as her eyes struggled to open. It was then that she realized she was resting against someone. Her cheek lay against soft, dark material. As her head moved ever so slightly with rising and falling of a breath, she realized that she was leaning against someone's chest. The sound, so lovely in its melody and skill, filled her with contentment like she had not felt for a long time.

She yearned to turn her head, to find the source of the sound. But her movements were slow and tiring. She strained her neck to catch a glimpse of the maker of that voice. All she could see above her, blocking the expanse of stars that now spread out above in the night sky, was a dark figure. Even this close, she could not make out the details of its face. The figure was hooded, with a heavy cloak spread across its wide shoulders.

The hood turned in the starlight, and she could see two gleaming eyes shining down upon her. They were so bright and vivid in the starlight, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. They stole across her face and settled briefly on her eyes. It was then that she thought no mortal could possibly have eyes such as those. They shone with such brilliance. Such beauty! They were powerful and frightening, like the terrible beauty of an angel.

"Angel," the word slipped from her mouth without restraint. It was almost a plea, but it carried such reverence and devotion.

The face was lifted from her sight and the arms that she had forgotten held tighter to her frail body. She heard the voice continue its gentle humming. There was something incredibly beautiful and hypnotic about it, and she felt herself lulled into a trance, forgetting the dampness of her clothes or the chill on her face. She nestled deeper into the cloak that surrounded her before falling back into sleep's arms.

The moon was high and nothing but the howl of a distant wolf sounded in the forest. She shivered, pulling her cloak about her and lifting the hood over her hair. Her wide eyes caught the light of the moon. She heard it again. Closer this time. Frantic in her movements, she spun around at the sound of the wolf drawing nearer. She looked down at her feet for some strange reason and saw that they were bare. The soft, smooth skin of her ankles was scraped and bloodied.

She could not run. The feet that were injured were rooted in place. She felt the chill of the night air on her skin and drew her hands up to rub the cool flesh of her arms.

There it was again. The footsteps in the woods. Surely it was a spirit of the woods. No, she reminded herself, it cannot be. I will not be like them. I will not think with such a small mind. But as the trees began to part, their lofty trunks almost bending to the will of the approaching figure, she clasped a trembling hand to her chest. The phantom. The ghost of the woods. It does haunt these trees. It comes for me, she thought in fear.

She tried to back away, but her feet remained motionless. She felt her body tumble to the ground roughly. Christine looked up as the blackness parted and a figure stepped into the small clearing. It was a creature tall and strong. The height was menacing enough, but the cold, furious demeanor of the figure filled her with even more fear.

I will not give in to it, she thought to herself. My Lord and my father watch over me.

It walked before her, planting itself before her. Looking up from the ground where she lay, like a scared child before the most horrible of monsters, she felt her courage swiftly leave her. As the phantom looked down upon her, still cloaked in shadow, she caught a glimpse of a bone-white mask upon its face. No, half of it, she noticed. The other side was bathed in darkness.

It reached out a hand to her, extending long, but masculine fingers towards her neck. She felt him grip her neck. Icy fingers pressed into her flesh and choked her. She tried to scream but found it useless. A man? No, this was no man. He must be a demon of these woods.

Christine awoke in a strange bed. Her limbs were twisted amongst the sheets and her skin was clammy. She could still feel the fingers at her neck. Brushing the skin with slender fingers, she choked back a sob as the dream began to fade. A bed, she thought again. Soft pillows lay beneath her head and a heavy blanket and sheets were pulled up over her body. There was light! A tall window lay near the bed with heavy, dark drapes shutting out most of the light. It felt like it had been so long since she had seen sunlight. Her face moved instinctively towards the warm rays. She willed her limbs to move and finally gave up, collapsing back upon the lavish bed.

She lay there for a moment, pressing her hand against her eyes, trying to rub away the fatigue. What horrible nightmares, she thought to herself. But then she began to remember a voice. A voice so beautiful, so enthralling, that she was filled with emotion. Emotion that threatened to brim over and strip her of her sanity. It was a voice that reminded her of her father. The tone and depth conveyed in its deliverance filled her with more comfort then anything had since her father. But there was so much more to it. There were more emotions there then she could describe. Some that soothed her and some that, she could not explain why, frightened her.

"God grant me this gift again. That I might hear my angel's voice again," her prayer rose in the hushed room.