in another life

He thought he could see her in the distance but he disregarded the sight as an illusion. A glint of her jade eyes here, another of her white pelt there. He remained still as a statue and watched the progressing night in an attempt to dissipate the increasingly fabricating hallucination before him. He watched the falling snow stab darkness through the mist of his hot breath. He watched the mangroves bend under the winter wind, the light dashing brokenly between the matted canopy. The scenery did little to halt the sight of her. In a final attempt to ignore the ghost he closed his eyes. He may have even held his breath. He especially did not believe the entity for the image was a much younger image of the Laxago he knew. Her pelt was immaculate and life was in her eyes.


Upon reopening his eyes she was still there. Completely there. Her white pelt blending with the freshly laid snow but glowing almost like silver in the moonlight. Her eyes alluring and akin to spring in their intensity of green. He could not resist the illusion now. He would give in. He knew when morning came and the illusion was gone that he would be able to attend his duties, regardless of tiredness. He approached with an almost confident affect. Not a moment had passed where he believed she could be real and he would approach the matter as such. He did not pause once they were less than a stride away but entered her space directly, resting his tired head against her neck. She was warm in all that cold. Never before had he had an illusion where the physicality of the imagined thing was so strong. All others were vivid only in vision. Laxago he crooned, the words sliding from his lips like honey. All the desire and longing and love he had ever held for the woman was manifest in that single uttered name.