by
Joan Overfield
|
"Miranda?" Alec lay a gentle hand on her arm. "What's wrong?" "One hundred and eight-four years," she whispered brokenly, tears spilling over to rain down her cheeks. "It's gone, Alec. It's all gone." As if they had been waiting for only that, emotions so powerful that they literally took away her breath, erupted inside of her, engulfing her in a tidal wave of grief and sorrow. She gave a keening cry, turning instinctively toward the only sense of security she had found in this overwhelming new time. 
"Everyone I ever knew or ever loved is dead," she sobbed, clinging to Alec's shoulder. "I'm alone, I'm all alone." Alec tightened his arms about her, his own eyes burning as he listened to her anguish. He wanted to tell her that he knew how she felt, that he'd also lost everything, but the words wouldn't come. He could only hold her tighter, choking back his own howls of despair, as he listened to the pain pouring out of her. "My husband is dead, and I was never his wife!" she cried, her whole body shaking with delayed reaction. "What will I do? What will happen to me? Oh God, I'm so afraid!? "Shhh, it's all right now, it's all right," Alec whispered roughly, his hand shaking as he smoothed back her hair from her forehead. "I'll keep you safe, I promise you." |
