A/N: I regret to inform you all that this may be my last chapter for a little while. Since publishing this, I have gotten myself into the All Souls trilogy and that seems to be all my brain wants to think about. I apologise for this and my lack of dedication. I do have a chapter 7 waiting for my editing, but I cannot guarantee when I will get to it. I am truly sorry and hope to be back to this story soon so that I can do it and you all justice. Please enjoy this chapter and know that I do feel badly for leaving everything this way. I promise to come back when I can.

Chapter 6

Thunder rumbled the house a bit and I could hear the waves lashing at the shore. The rain pelted the windows and the sky was a dusky dark grey. I used to love days like this in my youth. They allowed me to sneak about my home without my mother noticing. I had been scared by them some when I was in the fair, but had grown to love them again in Persia. I had seen in my travels a lightning storm across a desert. There was no rain and it took a while to hear the thunder, but I could see each bolt clearly cut across the sky.

Looking out at the runny world beyond my rain covered window, I felt only misery and tiny bit of that fear. It was not as thrilling this time. I had a good roof over my head, but I had not been able to watch a storm for some time. Generally I was in the walls of the Opera or beneath it in my home. Once, in a state of misery not too far from the one I was in now, I had stood on the edge of the roof and watched the rain make the lamplights of Paris run like over saturated watercolours.

Saying that I was miserable was a bit of a lie. That would require feeling. Rather, I had so many I did not know what to do with them all. They overloaded my mind and I gave up trying to make sense of them. So, instead of getting dressed and giving Christine the friendliness she deserved and gave me, I instead stayed curled up in bed with no intention or drive to get out of it.

I watched the rain, listening to it, and wondering if it could melt me away. I would like to just wash down a drain. I almost laughed, realising I would be right back to where I started beneath the earth on a lake. The joke soon wore off as I remembered how pathetic that was. I wanted to crawl back beneath the earth and just pretend I did not exist. I had not truly done anything with my life down there, anyway. I had simply stayed out of everyone else's way, which meant I was safe and no one minded. Christine must have minded, though, as she took me away from there and plopped me in a house by the sea. At least I still had water around. Perhaps that was why it had taken me so long to hear the waves. I was used to hearing water outside my door, so hearing it here was like a clock you had lived with for so long you could not notice the ticking.

I missed the clock over my mantle. I had bought it for Christine since not knowing the time bothered her greatly. It did not bother me because life was one big clock and I did not care when it stopped. Back then I had been so indifferent. Things had changed when I realised I was in love with her and then got the ridiculous idea in my head that she could love me too. That hope was a dangerous one. I fed on it far too much. I should have known better, really. Even by bringing me out here, she did not claim to love me. She only worried about me. She thought of me as a poor, decrepit man who could not take care of himself anymore. I was just pathetic to her eyes. She was willing to put her life aside to see to mine. Though I am older than her by a healthy margin, I had not felt old until that thought. She thought of me as old, so I must be. She was too kind to ever call me that, but I knew she treated me that way. She was so sweet. If she thought me old, by everyone else's standards I must be ancient.

A faint smile crossed my lips to note that the Daroga was even older than me. I would call him prehistoric the next time I saw him. I enjoyed teasing him.

That said, I was not eager to get out of bed to do anything. I wanted to just lay here.

It was not my coffin bed, so it was a bit odd to me. I had to find just the right spot where it was not too soft and hard enough to support me. God, I thought, I really am old. This made me close my eyes and wish to disappear even more.

The drive to be loved by Christine was still ingrained in me like a bad habit. If she knew how old I was, she would never even consider it. I was nothing but some crusty corpse of a man who she was just making comfortable in his last days. I was hardly a man at all. I was a body, a thing, nearly lifeless.

Tears were threatening to slide down my face when I heard a knock at my door.

'Erik?'

There was that question again. I wondered if I did not answer to it if she would think I was dead and breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps I would die, then. All of my foolish dreaming would be put to rest as my body should be.

I kept my eyes firmly on the window, putting my back to the door when she cracked it open, peeking in with a softer, 'Erik?'

I considered holding my breath, but that seemed impossible to do. She might roll me over and find me still alive and scream. I would not scare her. I would just have to disappoint her. I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choking noise. Apparently I was sobbing.

In an instant she was at my side, kneeling on the floor before me. Somehow her curls looked even wilder today than they had the previous morning. Her nightgown was still on, billowing soft blue from under her white dressing gown.

'Are you hurt? What's wrong? Do you have a fever again?'

Her questions were fired quickly as her hands fluttered about my shoulders uselessly. She looked like I supposed I did when in a similar situation.

I groaned, hiding my face into my pillow. She seemed to take this as some kind of incentive as she then put her fingers to the back of my neck. A chill instantly ran up my spin, causing goose flesh to break out. I froze completely, even after her hand had departed and she had explained that I was not feverish.

'Erik, please tell me what's wrong,' she pleaded, putting her lips far too close to my ear to not feel the heat coming off them. Perhaps I was feverish after all.

I could only shake my head in response. I honestly was not entirely sure what was wrong, only knowing that there was little chance of her being able to help me. Too much was wrong and too much was right. But I could not coherently explain this to her.

'Just leave me be today, Christine.' I muttered into my pillow. I was not sure how much she heard or understood until she spoke again.

'I'm not going to leave you alone like this, Erik. It's not healthy.'

I actually laughed at that. It was a dry, humourless laugh. 'When have you ever known me to be healthy, Christine?'

When she did not reply, I glanced up at her. I had been expecting more pity but instead was faced with pursed lips and sharp eyes. She was not amused. I wanted to apologise, but could not muster it. The simple fact of the matter was that I did not care enough to do much of anything. I still wanted to waste away in bed, allowing my body to disappear into the rainy oblivion outside the window.

She must have seen some of this hopelessness, for her tone and expression softened. 'Erik, do you want to stay in bed today?'

I nodded feebly.

She looked over her shoulder at the window, noting how the sky looked more like it was before sunrise, rather than a few hours before noon. 'Well, I suppose today is not the worst of days to spend in bed. I think going to the market is going to have to wait until tomorrow.'

Fear gripped me, imagining her walking over the slicked grassy hills towards town by herself in this rain. She could fall and sprain an ankle or hit her head on some rock or get horribly sick. I clutched at her hand in this fear, not caring how surprised her expression was at my rash action. 'Please do not go out in this!' I pleaded with her, seeing all of the worst possible things happening to her beautiful form.

Her shock eventually wore off to one of tender understanding. 'I won't. I try not to go out in this kind of weather. Besides, I wanted to take you with me.'

I ignored the gripping tightness in my chest at the idea of being out in public. I simply contented myself to the fact that Christine was not going out into the storm.

'Now,' she continued, 'I am going to go get us some breakfast.'

She rose and left the room, leaving me to wonder if she did expect me to get out of bed at all. I supposed she would just have to face the disappointment when she came back in to find me unmoved from my spot. I lay there, mostly out of some misplaced spite, and watched the rain tracks run down the windows. As a child I had watched them through the boards over my windows. I would trace them with my finger and enjoy how the drops would combine to get bigger and faster before falling completely out of sight. I would start again at the very top and repeat. It passed the time.

I remembered one night not too long before I ran away, I had come downstairs without my mother knowing. She hated that I knew how to unlock my door from the inside and sneak out when she was asleep. I think she feared it like people fear the dark. In either case, I liked being free in the house at night when she could not see me to beat me. I sat in the window seat in the living room and traced the raindrops that fell. There was a gaslight on the outside of the house by the front door and that illuminated the rain like little molten gems of golden yellow.

Looking out the window in Christine's house, I felt a calm come over me. Most of my memories of my childhood were tainted by fear, and though sneaking out at night had its perils, that particular moment was one of the more peaceful ones. My mother did not find me out that night and I was able to spend a bit of time being innocent.

Christine came back in right when I was about pinpoint the exact moment my innocence was taken from me. She was holding two small plates with a muffin on each.

'I'm not hungry,' I said before I could stop myself.

She gave me a stern look, but did not force the issue. She set the plate down beside me, scooting onto the bed behind me. I rolled onto my back, resting the plate on my chest. I watched it rise and fall with my breaths, wondering indifferently if it would fall off and onto the floor.

Lightning illuminated the room and I realised Christine had not lit the lamp at my bedside. I felt strangely comforted by this fact.

'Quite the storm we have today,' she remarked. I nodded. 'Papa and I would spend days like this in front of the fire place. We would lay out pillows on the floor and would sit by the fire while he played his violin and told me old stories. I know all of the legends of the Aesir still.'

'Did you ever believe in them?' I found myself asking.

She smiled slightly, though she did not look at me. Her legs were just a few inches from my arm, which I eventually curled up to rest on my stomach. I could not fathom the idea of our skin touching at this moment. She remained on top of the covers, her dressing gown spread out a bit around her like a white shadow.

'I was raised Lutheran, though Mama Valerius was Catholic.' She was quiet for a moment. 'But yes, I did believe the stories. They were much more enthralling to a young mind than those of the Bible.'

I smirked. 'Blasphemous girl,' I muttered.

She laughed, surprising me. 'Yes, I suppose I am. I do believe in higher powers, Erik, do not mistake me. I do follow the teachings of the church and pray each night before bed and say my blessings before eating, but…'

'You are too free spirited to follow the ways of the church, Christine. You think too much for yourself. You would rather find your own path than be led by another.'

'Hmm, sometimes. There are always times where it is a comfort to know someone is looking out for you; to know that you always have someone to turn to in times of need.'

I huffed. I could not help the bitterness I felt. 'Perhaps there is help to be found for people as beautiful as you, but for wretches like me there is no help no matter how we plead or beg. I never once found safety in the thought that someone up above was letting me suffer.'

She looked at me then. Though I did not return her gaze, I could feel her eyes on me. There was confusion in them as well as pity. 'You truly believe that?'

'When you have experienced the Hells I have, you cannot help but believe there is no mercy to be found in Heaven.'

She was quiet again and I focused on the rumbling outside. The thunder was calming to me. I also listened to Christine's breathing. The gentle in and out of her breath had always enchanted me, just like everything else she did, but being this close was something of a novelty. Generally, I was not allowed this close of a proximity to her. I wondered that if I strained my ears if I could hear her heartbeat.

After a time, I felt her shiver slightly. I did not turn to look at her, but I nearly did when she started to shift and pull at the covers. She tucked her legs under the blankets beside me and I felt gooseflesh coat my body to realise her legs and mine were now only separated by a few inches. There was no fabric barrier beyond her dressing gown and nightgown. No more thick blanket to steal away some of her warmth. I could feel her skin's heat near mine and it made me shiver. I tried not to show any sign of a reaction, however. I did not wish for the moment to end.

I focused on the muffin still sitting on my chest on the blanket. I picked at it, realising it had blueberries in it. I tasted a bit and found it to be quite good, though I did not eat any more of it.

'My mother taught me how to make these. Technically they are supposed to be made with bilberries, but those are just wild blueberries.'

'Do they taste any different?'

Christine thought for a moment. 'Not really. There's this slight tartness that comes with the bilberries, but they taste about the same in the muffins.'

I nodded, feeling again like a child. Christine often did this to me, behaving like a patient mother having to explain simple things to a son. Yet, there were times when I was more the adult, needing to protect her from monsters in the dark; ignoring the fact that I was myself a monster in the dark.

'How old were you when your mother passed?'

'About six. She had pneumonia. Papa was scared I would catch it, so I was not allowed to visit her much. I was not able to say goodbye to her.'

'I'm sorry,' I said softly, realising I had crossed a line. This was none of my business and had no right to bring up such memories.

'It's all right. Did your mother ever teach you how to bake?'

I looked away as if turning from every memory I had of that dreadful woman. This did not stop them from coming, however. 'No. My mother taught me how to hide my face, fear the outside, and never expect anything to get any better.'

Christine was looking at me again and I once more could not meet her eyes. I knew there was only pity in them now and I could not bear to face that. I hated pity. It made dishonest help seem genuine.

'Erik, I'm sorry. I didn't realise—'

'It's all right. I am not mad at you,' I interrupted. I did not want to talk about this anymore and did not want to feel her looking at me the way she was. I wanted her to smile or do anything but feel bad for me. I may have been weak, but I did not want to be treated like I could not do anything at all.

We sat in quiet for a bit. I took another bite of my muffin, picking up a subtle spice to it. I recognised it from my time in Persia. 'Cardamon,' I mumbled, pinpointing the flavour.

Christine nodded. 'I try not to add too much. I don't like a lot of it, but it does add something to the flavour.'

I hummed my agreement, taking another bite. I was surprising myself with how much I was eating, not to mention how much I had slept in the past few days. I had never been one for either of these so-called human necessities. When Christine had come to stay, I did not sleep at all. I would occasionally fall off at my desk, but it would be far from the restful peace I experienced here.

Christine shifted beside me as we gazed out the window at the storm.

'I wonder how long it will last,' she mused.

I shrugged. It could last all day for all I cared. I was not getting out of bed today and the longer I had an excuse to accompany this decision, the better. I also was rather enjoying having her close to me. It was a novelty I was not eager to part with.

'Erik, would you like me to read to you?' She asked this so offhandedly that I almost did not feel a thrill at the proposition. Almost.

'If you wish.' I sounded far calmer than I felt.

She slid out of bed and my side instantly missed the heat her body put off. She was like a fire that had gone out and I was left alone in the cold darkness. I heard her shuffling about in the library of my study, humming to herself in that way she does when she is thoughtful. I had long enjoyed that idle song, no particular tune or rhythm, but just a comforting sound to pass the lonely silence with.

I slid out of bed, too. I made a quick trip to the lavatory, realising my somewhat childish determination to stay in bed was not conducive to healthy bladder movements.

I was glad when I returned to bed that Christine had not yet made a selection. That girl could stand in front of a bookshelf for two hours and not pick a single book to read. I had teased her once on this fact in my own home and she had spitefully pulled out a book and sat down to read it. I had to fight a smile with all my might as she pretended to read a book in a language I knew she could not understand. She tried for a few minutes before putting it down as though she had finished a chapter. I had to choose not to ask her about it and I noted later that the book had been replaced when I was not looking. I let her have her little victories, or at least make her think she had. It was not worth the argument and she was too adorable when she got so determined.

When she did come back in, I was relieved to see that she had picked a book she could read. I held my breath when she crawled back under the covers next to me. I did not protest much when she turned up the lamp to read by.

She read to me for a few hours at least. I could not name the book she read, but it did not matter. I was surrounded by her voice. I had missed her so. I loved her hair, her eyes, her chin, her smile, her fingers, her wrists, her legs, and every other aspect of her, but her voice won my heart every time. I could forever be enthralled by her joy, inspired by her passionate anger, entertained by her stubbornness, and torn to shreds by her sorrow, but when she spoke or—God!—when she sang I was undone completely. I had often found myself weeping in my box when she performed on stage. It was utmost beauty personified into a single voice. She was all of the notes of the piano played in one harmony together. It was Heaven's music. It was a spring breeze blown across a meadow. It was summer light sifting through the green leaves. It was an autumn crispness in the air. It was a winter night spent cozily in bed by the fire. It was everything to me.

When she finished, I woke. I had been sleeping and dreaming and living in her voice. I had dreamt of her voice. I had dozed, really, still hearing her, but not awake to anything else in the world. She had lulled me as I often had her with my own voice.

She turned to look at me. 'Erik, are you awake?'

I shifted some. I knew I was smiling blearily up at her, but I could not stop the idiotic expression from pulling at my face. 'I am, my dear. That was beautiful.'

She blushed in that modest way of hers. 'Thank you. I am glad you enjoyed it. Do you want me to go so you can rest?'

'No,' I said too firmly and quickly. My hand instinctively went out to take hers. 'No,' I repeated more softly. 'I like having you here.'

She cocked her head at me. 'Erik, do you have this happen often?'

'Have what happen?' I asked, genuinely confused.

'This,' she gestured to my whole body. 'Staying in bed all day.'

I looked down. My smile was gone and the bleariness of sleep had left me. 'Sometimes.'

'I don't recall it ever happening when I was staying in your home.'

I chuckled. 'That is because I hid it well.' I saw her continue to look perplexed and decided to relieve her of it. 'Those mornings when you would wake to find me gone. I would say I was out on errands. I was not. I was in my tunnels, having…this,' I explained, mimicking her earlier gesture to my body.

'Why did you leave?'

'I did not want you to see me like this and worry for me. Of course, that is a generous thought for myself; assuming you would care enough and not be rejoicing in my weakened state.'

'Erik,' she said with warning in her tone.

I had nothing to say to this tone. I felt my words were true. I was speaking the truth as I saw it. I could not help what experience and logic told me. To me, it was perfectly logical. I was in the right to think it nothing short of a miracle that she would care at all for my wellbeing.

'You could have told me this was happening, Erik,' she said in a softer voice.

I looked askance. 'I didn't think you would care or that you might care too much and worry.'

She shook her head. 'You contradict yourself a lot.'

This made me stop for a moment. I had been aware of this breach in logic for some time, but never gave it much thought. I wanted Christine to care about me, but I did not expect her to. Expressing that to her so that she would understand would take more energy than I felt I had, however. I just let her shake her head behind me and think me a cryptic lunatic. She would likely want me to leave within the week. She would come to her senses sooner or later.

'I'm not going to make you leave, Erik.'

I froze, wondering if I had spoken out loud without realising. I had been known to do this from time to time in my life. Christine had probably experienced it many times before. Just another part of me to make her wary.

She sighed. 'Erik, I know you are used to doing things on your own, but I want you to know that you don't have to anymore. I am here to help you if you need me.'

I felt tears brimming, but I did not let them spill over. I was tired of crying. I was tired of feeling.

'Christine,' I said, worry lacing my tone as I prepared to tell her to leave the room. What if she never came back? She might be offended and just leave me. She might never return.

She seemed to realise my plight and saved me instead. 'Erik, would you do something for me?'

I perked up instantly. 'Anything, my dear,' I offered. I did not even think twice about using my endearment for her. She smiled softly at me as I gazed up at her like the loyal dog I was.

'Would you plait my hair?'

All of the liquid in my mouth vanished upon hearing that request. Her hair, so wild and silky and beautiful, had been a source of fascination and longing for me since I had first realised I loved her. Even before that, seeing those untameable curls had made me quite curious as to their texture. How would they feel as they slid and coiled about my fingers?

I dumbly nodded, eyes still wide in awe filled surprise.

She beamed at me before sliding out of the bed.

Once more, I felt the loss of her body's heat next to mine. I knew I had no right to miss it as I had little right to have it in the first place, but I could not help longing to have her next to me always. I wanted her to warm my cool skin and make me at least halfway human. Just to have her beside me was a blessing.

She returned with a hairbrush and a course fabric ribbon. The satin ribbons I often had gifted her would slide right out of her stubborn hair, I realised. My gifts were not as useful as I had hoped, causing me some shame in perpetually giving them to her. I wanted to apologise, but she was already back on the bed, this time on top of the covers, and putting her back to me.

I sat up and looked at her hair in all of its glory. For so long I had coveted the dream of being able to touch it, and now that dream was a reality. I did not know what to do with myself. I reached out a tentative hand and gently ran my palm down the chestnut locks. They were softer than I had ever imagined.

'So beautiful,' I muttered, the words escaping me before I could stop them.

'I am thinking of getting it cut a bit—'

'No!'

My face flushed instantly at my unbridled outburst. Something about Christine made me lose the control I fought so hard for around her. I became wild at even the slightest things she said.

'I—forgive me, Christine,' I murmured shamefully.

She laughed. I nearly was undone at the idea of her laughing at me. 'It's all right, Erik. I would not cut it much, but if you like it long, then it shall remain so.'

'You needn't give up your desires for me, Christine. It is not my decision to make.'

I could see how her ears pulled back some, meaning she was smiling. 'This is why I could not marry Raoul. His life would not let me choose. It is improper for a girl to cut her hair.'

'I do not see it as improper, Christine. I merely prefer you with it longer. It is too beautiful for me to think of you losing it. But, as I say, it is your decision to make.'

She turned round, then, and put her lips to my forehead before I could think about reacting. I was so unprepared for the gesture that I did not stiffen until she had nearly pulled away entirely. She placed her hand on my cheek, running her fingers down to my jaw as she murmured, 'You are good to me, Erik.' She smiled like the sunrise as she said this.

When she turned back round, I had half a mind to demand how she expected me to plait her hair after she had done something so wonderful. She had to know that I could not think straight after such a gesture. My mind was blank and my eyes could not manage to blink. My hands remained still, one holding the brush, the other limply hanging in my lap as I sat, facing her back.

After a few moments, my hands moved without the aide of my mind. I put the brush to her hair, my other hand coming above it so as not to pull too hard at her scalp. I slid the brush through as gently as I could without snagging it. I failed partway down. My heart jumped to my throat at this problem. I did not want to hurt her. I instead started at the top again in another spot and repeated the action until it too ended in tangles. I tried once more with the same result. I stopped, not knowing what to do.

'You're so gentle. My hair isn't that delicate,' she remarked playfully.

'I don't want to hurt you.'

'Well, it'll just end in tangles if you're not more decisive.'

I bit my tongue, realising it was too late for that.

'Is it tangled?' She seemed to read my mind, and though I could detect a bit of humour in her voice, I could not voice my reply. She laughed a bit. 'Start at the ends and work them out.'

'I don't want to pull it.'

'I'll be fine,' she assured.

I did as she asked, starting at the ends and slowly managing to get the knots out of her hair. It was difficult in some parts, but I was eventually able to run the brush from the crown all the way to the tips without issue. I had to smile at my good work, knowing I had not hurt her.

'Now,' she said with a tone not too dissimilar from mine when I taught her. 'Do you know how to plait hair?'

I shook my head before I realised she could not see it. 'No.'

She showed me how she sectioned it off into three parts and wound the strands always over the middle. She explained it beautifully and I realised my stupidity for not knowing before. It was not that difficult.

Doing as she instructed, I set to work.

Oh, there was no feeling quite like having her hair slide between and around my fingers. Weaving my fingers through her locks was akin to stroking the petals on a flower. Her hair coiled about my spindly digits as though they wanted to be a part of me. We were to be joined in this way and I could think of nothing better. I wondered partway through what it would be like to burry my face in her mane, but I resisted the urge and finished the plaid. She handed me the fabric strip and I tied it into a neat bow at the end, admiring how her remaining hair corkscrewed so perfectly.

She ran her plait through her hands, likely checking my work, before smiling over her shoulder at me to thank me. I could not help but return her grin, though it looked far worse on me than it did her.

A crack of thunder interrupted us and I realised that the storm had abated while she had read to me. It was now returning and I felt a chill run through me. The weather never had much affect on my moods, but something about it coming back reminded me that my darker mood had been subdued while she was here. It was not gone, but her presence had made it fade to a more distant part of my mind.

As she set the brush on my bedside table, I laid back down. I felt the hopelessness of my life crashing down on me again. I could not even take joy in the fact that Christine was settling under the covers beside me again.

'I think I am going to sleep, Christine,' I told her in the subtlest form of dismissal I could think of.

'All right, Erik. Do you want any more of your muffin?' she asked, looking at the food I had not eaten.

I shook my head and she took it out of the room, likely setting it in the kitchen in the hopes that I would be hungry again. I seriously doubted it.

I rolled onto my side again to watch the rain on the window. It lulled me some and I could hear Christine moving about the house. She had left my door open, but I did not have the will to go close it. I assumed she would want to be able to check on me without waking me. She was considerate that way.

I closed my eyes, but I knew sleep would not come to me. My mind was in too much of a flurry cancelling itself out. I could not focus on being calm when it was busy telling me all of the things I should be feeling but was not.

Thunder rumbled through the sky and I felt it in my chest. I longed to be able to sing again and feel my own voice reverberating through my ribs into my arms. My chest voice had always been a pleasure for me. My head voice was strong as well, I knew, but the lower notes were so akin to a purr that it lulled myself. Christine had often shown how she enjoyed my singing. My voice was my one redeeming quality and I had nearly ruined it for her. I had lied to her with it. No wonder she did not love me; could never love me.

I curled myself into a ball on the bed, going through all of my past mistakes. Every terrible act I had ever committed, seeing it through Christine's fearful eyes. She would turn me away the moment she knew even half of my bloodied past. She would not let me touch her hair if she knew my hands had been responsible for so many deaths. She would not want me to sing to her if she knew how I had lured men to their deaths with it.

The dark cloud above my head kept getting darker and darker, much like the sky outside my window. I was so wrapped up in my own storm and the literal one that I did not hear the quiet snick of my door closing. It was not until I felt the bed give some behind me that I knew Christine was back in my room.

She pulled the covers back so that she could be beside me again, though in my mental state I could not see why she would want to. I laid still, not wanting to think about how warm she was at my back. I vaguely heard her beckon to me through the fog of my mind, but I could not find my voice to respond.

It startled me when I felt her hand at my back, rubbing soothing patterns into it and I realised she was trying to help me. She was humming some tune as she did this and I tried to focus on it like a drowning man clutching at a robe to pull him to safety.

I felt a whimper escape my throat and it sounded distinctly like the words, 'Don't leave me,' but I could not be sure.

In moments, I felt her warmth all but encase me. Her body was pressed to my back and her arm wrapped round my waist, placing a hand on mine. I gripped at her fingers probably harder than I should have, and let her hold me. She formed herself to me and I was surrounded by her. I could feel her breath at the back of my neck, her hand clasped in mine, her legs matching the bend in mine as best she could given our height difference.

Suddenly, the storm inside and out did not seem so frightening. The stiffness that had come over me when she had moved closer quickly melted away and I felt a peace wash into my mind. She kept humming, her chest between my shoulder blades vibrating with the sound. I could feel her head tuck itself to the back of mine as she settled in.

I had never felt such closeness and it quickly made my mind drift off to the sleep I had been hoping for.