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Abby
I’m lost in the mist. I look around wildly, but there seems to be no form of escape. The tall, dark figure is getting closer.
I need to run!
The cloaked figure keeps chanting words that echo in my head. I’m confused and terrified. The mist continues to get thicker, the voice in my head growing unbearably loud.
The tall figure is almost upon me now. I keep running, but he’s always there, waiting for me at every turn and curve.
I can’t stop running, though. To stop is to die….
The chanting seems to grow with the mist, draining me of my energy and will to live. I’m trapped in this dreadful haze. And, no matter how hard I run, I can’t seem to escape the devil chasing me.
“Abigail?”
The familiar deep voice cuts through the voices in my head, and I stop running to listen.
“Abigail? Wake up!”
I grasp onto the sound of his voice – it seems to be my only path out of this diabolical maze.
Iopen my eyes with a start. He’s sitting on my bed and holding my hands tightly in his. His presence comforts me. His dazzling green eyes are full of concern as they search my face.
“Abigail?” Pocus calls softly. “Are you okay?”
I cling onto the reassurance in his gaze and touch, too terrified to let go lest I slip back into the hell from which I just returned. It felt all too real.
I shake my head a little, pursing my lips and blinking rapidly to prevent the tears that are pushing against my eyelids from falling.
Pocus stands and scoops me into his arms. I instantly wrap my arms around his neck and curl up into him. I press my head against his chest and take comfort in his scent. It feels safer here, with the steady beat of his heart right beneath my ears. He goes to sit on the couch, holding me securely against his body.
He runs a hand down my hair in light, comforting strokes. “It was just a dream, ma chérie,” he says softly. “You're here now. It doesn’t have any hold on you.”
I nod weakly against his chest and snuggle deeper into him. I’m already drifting off to sleep again, lulled by the soft timbre of his deep voice and reassured by the feel of his strong arms around me.
I let my hand fall from his neck and place it on his chest, enjoying its sturdy feel beneath my palm. I catch a glimpse of the bracelet on my left wrist just before I give in to the fight against sleep.
But did I see the bracelet on my wrist shining brighter than usual? Is this the start of another nightmare?
* * *
Pocus
She makes the perfect picture….
The soft contours of her face, made even softer by sleep, pressed against my chest. The teasing tendrils of her long shiny hair on her forehead. Her pert little nose and her slightly parted lips, pink and plush….
This is a picture that I plan to hold in my heart forever.
I believe in shamans, witches, spells, and even demons…but not in angels. Never angels….
I’ve never had reasons to believe in angels because I never met one. I have never met anyone that gives me such inner peace and reason. Now, I feel like I have a reason to fight on and maybe hope for victory. She makes me wish for things I never dared to dream about, like acceptance and… love?
The world may have succeeded in breaking her wings, but not her spirit. She is beautiful and resilient.
Mon petit ange.
She stirs in my arms and opens her eyes slowly. My chest swells with pride and many other emotions I don’t care to define. Her beautiful hazel eyes still dazed from sleep, search my face.
