Stories & Reflections
inspired by “žMiss Christina” by Mircea Eliade
The voice was coming from outside, or was it his? Was it a dream, or reality?
His forehead was full of cold sweat. If it was a dream, it was a nightmare. He felt that he had no chance, only to submit his will.
But the pain and the dark shadows started to dissolve, and from them appeared the dear face of Diana, approaching him and whispering:
* It is over, no need to be afraid. Now you are in our room, our… My love.
The smell of her body, her perfume overwhelmed him. He felt sick, afraid to lose control. He had been a guest in that old estate for few days, and saw the painting unaware that it was hiding a living entity. And now, he was torn between desire, fear, lust and disgust.
He was afraid to act, and prayed that he wake up from that horrible dream.
The young lady moved slowly, towards him. The walls seemed to move, and space grew.
Henry moved his hand, and touched the soft skin, of that ethereal being, his desire now. Being with her was not so bad after all… He refused to think, but already was not sure any more that it was not her talking in his mind. He heard a confused echo, words repeated, whispers, seemed a spell. Whispers passing time…
The next day he awake alone in his room, the light was strong, blinding him. No sign of the nightmare. He decided talk to his friend, the old priest of the village. Henry thought it was the only one able to help him to find back his peace.
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