Lorren

Two

She watched as the unfamiliar man approached her still, barely-breathing form, his head bent over while he examined her, his black, shoulder length hair falling to mask his face. He reached out a hand that gently, hesitantly, brushed her arm, a brush she couldn’t feel. His hand shakily moved from her arm up to her shoulder, where he cupped it and gently rubbed small circles with his thumb, in an almost soothing gesture. He glanced at her face, probably searching for a reaction of some sort. A reaction that would never come while in her current state.

She couldn’t help the odd sensation that poured through her mind like a tidal wave at the image of being touched and not being able to feel it, even while watching. The profound image consumed her. Usually when she left her body, she was alone, safe, with no one around to distract her from her objectives. She had never witnessed someone gently caress her, never experienced it even in her physical form. She watched with rapt fascination, her attention glued to his every move.

The man looked around the room at the torture instruments, a frown marring his beautiful face, before he looked up at her, through her, in her spirit form, a faraway look in his startlingly beautiful eyes.

“Ledia…” the man coaxed, in a voice so beautifully haunting.

No emotion passed through her – it couldn’t. Not without her physical body. Yet she stared unblinkingly at the man, his eyes so dark a color blue that they were very nearly black, but for the silver halos and freckles in his irises. She cataloged his features as if he were merely a painting – beautiful eyes set into a face that looked as if it had been sculpted in honor of one of the Gods of Old. His black hair hung to his shoulders in loose waves, as if he ran his hands through it constantly. He was tall, perhaps four inches over six feet, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He wore a uniform that bespoke a high station amongst the ranks of the men who had captured and tortured her, in hopes of gaining her cooperation. All they gained was a shell, whose spirit could pick and choose when to inhabit its body.

“Ledia…” The man repeated, his voice full of anguish and longing, his hand fluttering over the sluggish pulse at her throat. “Ledia, come back to me. We’ll get you away from here, my love. I swear it. Just come back to me, please,” he begged, his voice cracking on his plea.

He wasn’t the first to promise freedom. He wasn’t the first to try and coax her back to consciousness. He wasn’t the first to call her his love. But he was the first to not hurt her, to handle her with delicacy, tenderness, affection. He was the first to show compassion for her. He was the first to show disgust at her condition. Yet she stayed back, observing the man hover over her, gently running his hands and eyes up and down her body, cataloging her injuries along the way.

The man gasped when he came to her ribs, his fingers hovering over the broken bones on her right side. He quickly moved on, running his hands down her sides, his deft fingers gliding over bruised and exposed skin, burnt and marred, finding tears and broken bones along the way to her hips, legs, and feet. He next examined her arms and hands, wincing when he came to the gashes in her wrists from her bonds. He gently placed a kiss on each wrist when he was done evaluating her body.

Although she could not experience emotion in her current state, she could feel the rage and fury rolling off of the man before her; nearly see the black waves fill the room.

“Ledia,” he whispered brokenly, “what have they done to you? What have they done to my beautiful love?”

She looked on passively as he gently untied her body and cradled her head against his chest, stroking her long white-blonde hair and back lovingly, running his hands over the bones along her spine that stood out prominently through her thin, pale skin, giving her the appearance of having a crest. He quickly removed his jacket and wrapped her in it, covering her nudity, securing her broken body against his chest as he carried her towards the door with ease and gentility, as if she were a small child or animal.

“Open this DAMNED DOOR!” the man shouted hoarsely to his inferior officer.

The door opened with a groan before he finished his demand, allowing light and fresh air to spill into the dim and dank room that her body previously occupied. She watched in fascination as the man removed her from the hell she had known for over three months.

“I’m taking her with me. End of discussion. She WILL NOT be pursued, she WILL NOT be harassed. From now on, she is under my protection, my custody, care, and my name. Is that understood?” he ground out through gritted teeth.

“Y-yes s-s-sir!” the other man stuttered, fear shining in his eyes, his hands trembling at his sides as the color drained from his ruddy face.

“Good. Now go and inform the others of Ledia’s new accommodations and the orders concerning her. GO!” he nearly shouted as his inferior shot off like an arrow towards the Commander’s quarters.

As the men made the exchange, she slowly slipped back into her body, allowing only enough of her to hover outside of herself to keep the pain at bay. The man holding her must have felt the subtle change in her as her spirit settled back into her body, for he whispered soothing words and tender endearments as he carried her out of Hell and towards the unknown that awaited her when she opened her eyes.