❛How foolish I was to hand you my heart...❜ ─── Felicity Bailey has faced a dimwitted snake eyed-sod twice, yet somehow a fluttering heart in the presence of a certain witch seems to make her uneasy. And as people whisper about an escaped convict a...
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( AUGUST, 1993 )
───
FELICITY was dreaming again.
As usual, her dreams were occupied by a woman with a gentle smile, something iridescent. It was the type of smile that resonated within her even after she woke. And always persistent, Felicity, would ask the same question: "Who are you?". Upon their first meeting, Felicity's fingers had trembled as the woman had remained silent, her form flickering like a black and white film. Her eyes were colorless, yet Felicity still could see the kindness they held.
It made no difference, though, how Felicity questioned the guest of her dreams. Silence was her only answer. No matter, the woman had continued to reappear in her dreams, with the same generous smile and welcoming eyes, still silent. And still, the wraith only smiled. Felicity had gifted this woman a name: Ghost.
Felicity had screamed, struggling with this bittersweet haunting. While she enjoyed the company, talking desperately to someone who would not do the same gifted Felicity with bouts of frustration (and the concerns of insanity). Following these thoughts, she had later wept, the idea that perhaps petrification had addled her mind, and Ghost was simply one of the consequences.Yet, there was something about Ghost, something that settled within her smile and plucked at Felicity's heartstrings. Maybe it was the hidden truth behind her eyes that Felicity was unable to uncover, one that she yearned to unearth. Perhaps I am mad, Felicity had thought in resolution.
And tonight, Ghost has returned.
Felicity is in her room. Or rather, it's imitation.
Summer's dregs are fading. The leaves are falling beyond the glass windows and the shadow of an approaching term is approaching. The days are a simple mantra, leading onward to its successor. Days spent soaking in the sun and nights of raindrops racing down her arms are not unwelcome by her. Nonetheless, they are identical, and Felicity is yearning for other company despite her Genevieve.
Felicity's fingers run across a crack in her desk at which she sits, Ghost's eyes following her watchfully. The jagged edges of the aged woods nip at her fingertips. The woman's gaze is a welcome blanket, one warm and welcoming.
Her scarlet curls pool over her shoulder as she turns in her chair to stare at the colorless woman. "If you're trying to give me a fright, Ghost, you'll need to try harder."
Felicity turns her attention back to the divet in her desk, sighing in faux disappointment. "No matter, the secret of your poor arrival remains safe with me."
Ghost's response remains astray.
Felicity sighs, reprimanding herself for skiving her hopes for a response from the woman. Or rather, believing the intruder of her dreams would give her the gift of a conversation. The silence wafts through her bedroom like wafts of thick smoke.
