|
|
Post by Keera Ufton on Mar 2, 2012 17:26:08 GMT
It was almost official now, and she’d report it back to headquarters as soon as she could. She was sure there was Innocence here. Where was still a mystery. Why was even more impossible to fathom. But it was an undeniable fact that the reports were right, and experience told her that this sort of thing didn’t happen often.
Although there had been that group of people in some other part of France that danced themselves to death a few hundred years ago. No Innocence there.
This was different.
A young woman, no older than twenty, was walking around, as if blind and oblivious to the cold. She knew her way, for she never walked into anything, but the way she walked was aimless, feeling the air around her, going many places but nowhere at the same time. She wasn’t dressed for the cold either, wearing only a thin shirt and what was obviously pyjama bottoms, no slippers on her bare feet. And then she would open her mouth and her little voice, almost shy in it’s tone, would call out, a single word and nothing more.
“Bastien!”
Over and over again.
Keera had followed her for a while now, probably around twenty minutes, just standing back and watching. She was awake, her wide eyes said that, but when Keera called out, asking if she was cold, she didn’t pause.
So the exorcist moved from her hiding place, coat wrapped tightly around her to protect from the chill, crossing the distance in quick steps, standing by the young woman’s side in a matter of seconds. Then she placed a hand on her arm, her skin almost freezing to the touch, but still she didn’t turn.
“N'êtes-vous pas froid?” Aren’t you cold?
Her French was terrible at best, but the attempt didn’t earn any response. It was like she was in a trance. “Hello?” She questioned again, moving to stand in front of the woman, who paused, looking at her. No. Through her.
|
|
