I nearly burst from the sheets, but the mounting pain reminds me why I should not. Other than the fact that he had his face concealed and his embroidered garments are far too fine. An aromatic perfume obscures his natural scent. Even so, his presence is one I know, like the touch of sunlight and the fragrance of pine borne of the winds of Armathis. Something has changed. Something is awry.
I yield, falling back down. "This cannot be..."
I can feel it like a dark scar stitched into the seams of my reality. His presence is not only obscured, but shrouded by a pall with a mournful veil over his face. Perhaps he was worried that my life had been left at that arena, but this is not concern or relief. This is different, deeper, too powerful to name, yet untarnishable.
"Can…" a hairline crack in his voice, "can I hold you?"
