Sprig

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Corporeal, she was, floating delicately towards the bedside of young Silvain Sprig, a boy whose age could not be more than thirteen years. Although, fantastical in image her touch was indeed solid as she bestowed it on the length of the boy’s arm. Eyes fluttered, feet stirred, but the boy only wakened half-way. Half asleep, however, was the only time you could see the woman, which now stood by his bedside, clearly. In those few moments where phantasm and subsistence collide and seemingly blend into a whole new world of colors, the lady, for that was what she was, could be seen in incisive detail. Glowing locks of white, but not the color of age, cascaded down the length of her back only to find solace in the crook where back meets thigh. Her eyes were a deep green, deep in color and substance, so instead of glowing and forcing light out they seemed to invite more color, more beauty into their recesses. Eyes and hair remained her outstanding features as the rest of her body was pale and smooth, the only exception being her nose and chin.

Silvain stared serenely before making an utterance that was not, at first, decipherable. Then as he began to awake further his words grew less hazy, but the woman’s image grew more.

“You haunt my dreams, and now you must haunt me in life?”





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