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Now, that it was time to leave, a paralyzing homesickness-drenched fear wrapped its tangled thorny arms around Duma. For the longest time, her thoughts had been captivated by the notion of embarking on THE GREAT JOURNEY. She simply couldn’t resist dreaming about the addictive mystery-caped unknown which had been roaming the Earth beyond the confining clouds.
A soft whisper calls for you, caressing the sleeping night and lingering in the cool air. It must be a dream, you tell yourself, and close your eyes. But the restless wind makes its way through the open window, carrying the fading remnants of the delicate voice to your ears. Never did you hear such a tender, soothing murmur.
Eli was standing in the bride’s gazebo, checking herself out in front of the huge mirror brought there earlier by the staff. They closed the gazebo using white impenetrable sheets, enabling the bride the privacy she needed before the ceremony. It was late afternoon on a late August day and the air stood still. It must have been at least thirty-two degrees outside. Her pearl-white satin dress stuck to her breasts and her stomach. She grabbed two small pieces of the shiny fabric enveloping her waist, shaking it gently, and hoped that it would cool down her sticky skin, but the dress was just too tight.
They were right: practice does make perfect. Years of training and hard work had sure paid off. Sam could finally master the ancient art of silencing a broken heart. If only they knew how she struggled to subdue hers. And this was no easy task, just ask anyone whose heart had ever been broken.