5.03 am
"Bonjour."
"Oh, hello..."
Her eyes are molten pools of stories lived, and memories of past lives melting together in a nostalgic hazel glow.
Her voice is cracked as chipped porcelain, but much more matter-of-fact. She speaks to me like she has known me all my life, and she could not be less surprised to see me standing on a foreign bank surrounded by French air and cherry blossoms.
"You look, erm, troublé, troubled. Very troubled. Come."
So I do.
YOU ARE READING
En Air
Romance'I don't believe in magic,' said the young boy. The old man smiled. 'You will when you meet her.'
