"I'll break down your walls one by one and sneak into the gates of your icy heart before crushing it into tiny pieces." He murmurs mercilessly as his lips lightly brush my ear, the contact eliciting an indescribable sensation through every inch of m...
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I close my eyes only to reopen them seconds later.
But I'm still greeted by the same sight.
So, I wasn't imagining things?
It's as if her presence has the power to silence my storm of thoughts, transforming them into a sea of calming waves.
"I-is that really you Lolita?" I manage to utter in incredulity, terrified that the slightest wrong move could make her disappear.
Her eyes glisten in jubilation as she takes approaching steps.
Her caramel curls bounce gracefully with every step she takes.
Once she halts before me, I notice the white lehenga she's wearing, a sharp contrast to the black embroidered dress hugging my body.
Something seems different about her.
She stands with confidence, her calmness befitting of an ethereal princess.
"But how is that even possible? H-how am I able to see you?" disbelief colours my face as I continue my barrage of questions, "I thought I'd never see you again. . .Wh-where is this place?"
The ability to recall the events leading up to this moment surges.
The last thing I remember was facing detective Landford only to lose consciousness after he physically assaulted me and shot me in cold blood.
I raise my fingers to trace the bullet wound on my upper arm, only to furrow my brows upon the loss of the gut-wrenching sensation I felt that night.
As if reading my mind, Lolita breaks the silence, "In this plane of existence, you can't feel any physical pain. Here, all your physical torments have been wiped out of existence."
Her answer gives rise to a new series of questions.
Questions about why she kept so many things from me when she was alive.
Questions about whether or not detective Landford was telling the truth by insinuating that she joined an underground mafia gang and got entangled in money laundering.
Questions about who she suspects took her life that night.
But I try to address the first round of questions that I desperately need answers to.
"What exactly is this place?" I inquire in puzzlement, "Am I dead?"
She doesn't readily answer me, as if pondering her next words for what seems like an eternity.
"You're in a place called the in-between, a place for transit souls," she pauses before shifting her gaze to the now crimson sky, "Right now, you're on the precipice of death, and it's knocking at the gates of your soul.
