In an open field, there sat a french madame, looking off into the eternal emptiness. Her lips were pursed and her brow was a light, red frustrated bundle of disappointment, This isn’t the moon I expected. She sighed angrily, That gypsy told me that the moon would be perfect tonight. Her cherry lips trembled and her eyes squeezed shut; hands clasped. She bowed her cloaked head onto the soft grass. As she lay there, she had the dark thought that she was alone on the most haunted night of the year. Crestfallen. She sighed and contemplated what to do next.
“Oh, Christopher why did you abandon me?” she said softly and with winded desperation. Nothing is right-no moon, no Christopher- this night was not going according to plan, she thought. She looked up to the sky, watching wisps of clouds creep across the almost moon. She could feel the cold wind pass against her face, giving her a slight chill. She could feel her life growing darker, as the moon was nearing its apex. The moon was even clear than before, sending down a beam of light to her. She fell asleep in the light of the moon.
She awoke in the field. But, the field was different. Everything was white and a there was a brightness. Not harsh, but soft and white. She rose, looking around. She didn’t know where she was. Was this Heaven? Was this Hell? Or was this somewhere in between? she asked herself, walking away. As she walked, there was a table and two chairs sitting in an opening of trees. She walked to the table, which was exquisitely carved with many embellishments and decorations. The chairs were equally as skillfully carved with matching decorations to the table. Both were all white. She sat down, looking at the table. A tea set appeared on the table. All white, as everything else. The only thing that wasn’t white, was the tea itself, which was a light brown color. She looked down at cup, picking it up.
“How’s the tea?” asked a feminine voice. She looked up in shock, dropping the cup. She was ready to leap out of the chair, seeing an angelic figure in the chair across from her. The figure held up an hand, “Please, don’t be frightened, Belle.”
“How do you know my name?” asked Belle, a bit frightened by the figure. Belle wondered, Is she an angel? Is she a demon?
“You need not be frightened of me, Belle,” the figure rose, flying over to Belle. She held out her hands, “I am your guardian angel.”
“My guardian angel?”
“Yes,” the angel clasped her hands together, in front of here.
“Am I dead?”
“No,” the angel returned to her chair, as a new cup of tea formed in front of Belle.
“Then why am I here?”
“You are lost,” the angel looked at Belle, who was looking down.
“I don’t know,” Belle placed a finger on the handle of the tea cup, following the curvature. She looked up to the angel, “Maybe.”
“Tell me what has lead to this uncertainty,” the angel placed her hands on the table.
“The man I love is off fighting in the war,” Belle looked down at the tea, seeing  her reflection. Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, as her hands were shaking.
“There is more?”
“He was suppose to come home today,” Belle’s hands were shaking even worst, tears falling into the tea.
“Do not worry, my dear,” the angel held Belle’s hands. Belle looked up, seeing a smile on the angel’s face. It was soft and warm. Belle looked around, seeing everything getting brighter. She looked back at the angel. She was disappearing, “Everything will be fine, my love.”
“What?” asked Belle, as the angel rose. She was gone in a bright flash and Belle was now in darkness. She felt cold.
“Belle,” said a male voice.
“Christopher,” she said, knowing the voice instantly. She looked around, seeing a light in the distance. She started walking towards it, holding a hand out to it.
“Belle,” the voice repeated.
“I’m coming Christopher,” she started running, letting her crimson scarf fly away. She could see him in the light. He was in his captain’s uniform.