LUSEA
Through the fog, a voice-I stumble toward it even though I scarcely understand the words she says, foreign and faintly recognized things penetrating through the haze. The content doesn't matter, though- it is the sound that resonates within me, ringing like bells through my ears, calling me on and on.
Is it an angel? She looks as I have heard angels described, fair skinned and flaxen haired with soft skin and large eyes. Next to her I am a mess, barely clothed, battered and scars, with dried tears smudging the dirt on my cheeks. Maybe this is another trick, a new form of torture to make me think I am safe, and the rug will be pulled out from under me if I dare to question or make a move.
But I have to know. "Waar is ek?" I ask her urgently, reaching up to grasp her hands, searching for answers in her kind face. A cough pulls through me; my throat is still raw and wounded, despite the miraculous healing, despite being dead. There is fear in my expression, but hope, too, and this time I speak slower, trying to form the proper words. "Am I... Dead? I felt the knife. So cold..."
By the grace of the fire and the flames
You're the face of the future
The blood in my veins
