Author's Note: Another short piece, but the next longer chapter is written out and just needs to be transcribed into Word and edited. After I finish a final paper for school, I'll be in the clear! Hope you enjoy and please send your love :)
- Phantom's angel
Le Fantôme et L'ange
Interlude
Dröm
The air was cold. There was an ache in Christine's body as her hands gripped onto her arms, trying to protect herself from the elements. Winter was here. She sat in the center of a clearing within the woods, looking about herself pensively. There was no fear, but wonder as she had so often heard the warnings of the forests surrounding Perros. Here in the quiet of the trees surrounding her, Christine felt peace. Even without a hint of light, Christine was welcomed by a beautiful sound…
A voice was calling her name, whispering through the trees like a lullaby. She wished to close her eyes to sleep, yet she could not, for she was intent on finding the form behind the melody. Her hand reached in the darkness, groping for anything that was tangible until she paused.
That distant voice called for her again, this time beside her ear.
Christine dropped her hand to her side and could feel the presence of someone standing close behind her. The form was powerful but even with the proximity it stood by Christine, it was cold.
It called to her again.
Christine turned to see nothing.
She gasped, searching the night for any signs of the voice, but to no avail.
She called to the voice, questioning its location, yet there was nothing but a breeze whistling past her ear.
But the chilled shadow remained behind her, forcing Christine to arch her shoulders forward to keep in her warmth. A shiver ran down her arms, strategically running down toward her finger tips, drawing her hands to turn and accept a chilling grip in her hands.
"Sing…" the voice whispered.
Christine did not question the voice, but crept into a simple melody from her homeland in the ancient language. It was a light tune – heartfelt and cheery – but lacked deeper emotion which could drive her into a thrill of ranges. The voice did not speak, but somehow conveyed its yearning for more.
The grip within her palm seemed to grow tighter, yet more faint as if it was slipping through her flesh. It no longer spoke to her but struggled – somehow to her knowing – trying to maintain its station beside her. Christine tried to hold on, but with any pressure she applied, it seemed their bond only grew weaker. Within moments, the pressure of the voice's hand was gone and Christine was alone, signing to an audience which was no longer present.
Her song carried out, despite the displaced presence of the voice, in case it was still nearby. As her singing concluded, she was certain she was completely abandoned, waking in her bed to realize it was all just a dream.
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