Sera (Mid-flight, slipping in and out of consciousness)
It’s snowing.
But not outside. Inside. The ceiling melts away and thousand snowflakes drift down—slow,soft and silent. I try to catch one,but my fingers won’t move. They’re numb. Or maybe i’m dreaming.
My brows knit. Why won’t my hands move?
The snow turns red and i hear a distant sound of piano playing. Or maybe it’s a lullaby.
Wait, is that my mother’s voice? It sounds so low and broken.
“Don’t leave,” someone whispers. It’s a man’s voice that sounds vaguely familiar.
He sounded sad and distant, with fear and something else laced in his voice.
Regret?
Pain?
I try to speak but my throat feels like it’s on fire.
I reach towards the voice and darkness envelopes me again,sending warmth through me.
I hear the subtle thrum
