Ten – 03

[This post is from J.T.’s point of view.]

The certainty in her words sent shivers skittering down his spine, ones he tried to ignore as he closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts, intending to simply feel, not think. Despite what she’d said, Ériu was a comforting presence beside him, something that made him feel just a little safer as he stretched himself toward uncharted territory.

You almost never admit fear, Jameson. The whisper echoed through his thoughts, shaking him to his core. He knew the voice, but at the same time, he didn’t.

What?

It came again, softly, gently, though firm. You nearly never admit fear and yet now you stand on the razor’s edge of it.

Another shudder wracked him. He could still hear the wind in the trees and feel the dampness of the ground beneath him, but at the same time he felt as if he was in another place, perhaps even another time. He could sense the shadows and the light close, like sunlight through winter clouds and bare branches.

It was unnerving and comforting all at once.

Who are you?

One who was once what you have become. Someone who has seen much and suffered. A friend.

“Ériu.”

“I sense her, too,” the ghost said. J.T. could feel the chill of the slender ghost next to him, as if she was leaning against his arm. “She speaks without a voice.”

He opened his eyes and there she stood, before them, a shadow cloaked in light. J.T. swallowed hard.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

Someone who cares. Her voice was sad and distant. Her hair was long, the golden shade of wheat in the fields, curling as it fell across her shoulders and back. Her gown was dark, cut in the Grecian style, shrouding her small and slender form. Her green eyes were fixed on him, a faint light burning deep within them. Someone who has stood too long silent and too long captive.

“Persephone,” Ériu breathed. “All thought you were dead.”

Rumors to that effect were greatly exaggerated.

Despite himself, J.T. smiled.

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