Discordant Sonata

Chapter 10: Nocturne

Music glossary:
Nocturne:  A musical composition that is inspired by, or evocative of, the night, in which emotions are private, subtle, and understated.

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(Mood Music:   Love Me - Yiruma)

Chat stirred, groaning weakly, slowly ebbing from the edge of unconsciousness into a sea of confusion.

Where am I? Am I alive?

His head ached. Memories were fuzzy, as if he were trying to view them from across a great, impenetrable fog. He willed his eyes to open, only to wince from a flash of stinging pain behind. Time to make use of his other senses, he supposed.

The atmosphere was calm and quiet; the gentle smattering of rain clinked off of roofs creating a pleasant white noise. He lay on something that was soft and comfortable and smelled like lavender, smelled like... home. He loved that smell. He inhaled deeply, wanting more. More. More of this soothing, delightful air. More of this tranquility. More of this safe feeling. He ached for it; hungered for it.

Despite the pain in his body, it was difficult to remember when he'd last felt this at peace. He chose to indulge and stay this way for a while; not asleep yet not quite awake, cozily drowsing in the realm of in-between. The real world could wait.

Time passed; he wasn't sure how long. This was the first time in years that he'd slept without any nightmares, and it was glorious. Could it have something to do with his current location? He couldn't be sure, but it was a possibility.

Finally deciding he was ready to face whatever was out there, he decided to try to open his eyes again, this time succeeding. It was dark; his sight blurry. Squinting, his view came into focus and he regained his feline night-vision.

Wait. Night vision?

It dawned on him: somehow, he was still transformed.

Scrunching his eyebrows in puzzlement, he examined his surroundings, searching for clues to try to figure out where he was and what had happened to him. The decor looked rather familiar. However, under dim lighting, it looked a bit different and he couldn't quite place it. He was pretty sure he'd been here before; but when?

The last thing he remembered was... did he really speak with Marinette? Or did he imagine her sweet and caring presence while in his semi-conscious haze, hallucinating to console himself into thinking that he wouldn't die alone and in agony?

In any case, he knew that the next part had been real: there was pain. So much pain. He had begged for it to stop, begged for anyone to help, even begged for mercy and release.

And then, when it finally stopped... he recalled lithe yet powerful arms holding him, drawing him close and protected, shielding him from the cold. And he felt weightless, like he was flying; the unmistakable smell of rain mixed with the subtle yet distinct tones of cherry blossom. How much of this had been a dream? Thinking on it with a sober mind, that last bit definitely sounded too beautiful to have been real.

But the burning question remained unanswered. What happened? How am I alive?

As he continued trying to piece together what had occurred, he felt something lightly squeeze his hand; something soft and warm.

There, asleep at his side, body halfway splayed across the bed and halfway dangling to the floor, was a woman with long, dark tresses, illuminated almost ethereally by moonlight; her graceful fingers still interlocked with his. Her hand twitched again, squeezing his once more. A tiny, sleepy moan escaped her lips as she turned her head towards him, face still obscured by hair that had fallen across her delicate features.