For what seemed like years she flitted in and out of shadow and light. The memories of her life and those that had passed by her lips flickered through her mind. She wasn't aware that she had been moved. Or that she was even still alive.
Death had reached for her and she had willingly given up her hand to be lead, finally, into the after life. There was a voice, a soft, wonderful voice she had dreamt of since she could remember.
"It is not your time child. Wake up. Wake up." And there she was, seven years old, in the barn of the man who raised her. The pale, beautiful woman holding her hand telling her to be strong. If her heart were beating it would have floundered feeling as close as she felt to her mother just then.
Hours later her eyes began to move and flutter behind closed lashes. A voice that was barely above a whisper cracked the still air. A hand grabbing her lost loves hand. "We are the last. We. And I have never stopped---loving you."
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Death had reached for her and she had willingly given up her hand to be lead, finally, into the after life. There was a voice, a soft, wonderful voice she had dreamt of since she could remember.
"It is not your time child. Wake up. Wake up." And there she was, seven years old, in the barn of the man who raised her. The pale, beautiful woman holding her hand telling her to be strong. If her heart were beating it would have floundered feeling as close as she felt to her mother just then.
Hours later her eyes began to move and flutter behind closed lashes. A voice that was barely above a whisper cracked the still air. A hand grabbing her lost loves hand. "We are the last. We. And I have never stopped---loving you."