Fiona turns to find
herself being addressed by....well, a man certainly, but what kind of
a man.
He stands before her,
tall and proud, his body almost chiselled from the air around them,
his hair alive golden, eyes the deepest blue of any ocean. His voice
is soft, yet possessing and insistent. When he speaks it's the only
thing she can hear, when he stops she longs for it to resume.
“Do you mind?” he
asks, bathed in warm light, “We shall not keep you long.”
“No,” she replies,
“No, not at all. You...you go right ahead.”
Fiona feels lost to her
surroundings, and yet totally aware of herself in the presence of
this....her mind falters at the word 'man', for while he is a man he
is also so much more: a universe with arms and legs, a smile that
feels like a Mediterranean holiday, and eyes...
A tug at her jacket
brings her crashing back into herself.
