» Hauntings & Healings

Loved ones...their expressions…those phantoms reform in the soupy mist, the shades which invade our neutrality take a personal approach to their relentless onslaught. A few of the transformed specters might've needled a familiar cord within me with their bleak, pleading suggestions that make them appear as innocent victims of foul play. Nar…throbbing, white hot aggravation builds within my gasping, heaving breast. When their imploring eyes reach for empathy, for compassion – their efforts are met with bristling fur and glistening, yellowish teeth. This soul is hardened to their trickery; these eyes have beheld the glory of the 'true' ethereal world at the end of the clearing. These aren't pure, faultless creations. They are unworthy, castoffs of sin itself. Demons. My resistance creates an instant reaction...their kindly faces scrunch with those vile mouths gaping as if determined to swallow us whole. A breathless voice murmurs above the fray; wary irises slip to find Zahra, her momentum slowing…eyelids widen anxiously, “Zahra!?” Ebon brims frantically call; attempting to earn her attention…but tis doubtful she heard anything. Those tawny eyes are held captive by the visions of falsehoods before us. Lips snap, taking vain aim upon the nearest attacker. Ivory wings pivot sharply to the left, forcing my front half ahead; easing closer, “Zahra!” From behind this alloyed mask, pit-less eyes leer into the swell of a flaming phantom before driving the gushing force of one bladed wing through its smote center, aiming to distort it. Legs kick out with arms continually driving and straining. Using every drop of agility afforded by small size -- I propel forward and lean haphazardly sideways; with my back facing Zahra. The left wing slows, while the right, bladed arm flashes hard directly through the apparitions in front of her. Hoping to create enough of a draft/uproar that her ghosts would become skewed and/or lose a fraction of their momentum.

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