soft fabric that felt silky against her skin. The material rippled in an unseen wind. It was almost as if she caused the breeze, was a part of it even, yet it did not touch her.
Strange. But it wasn't those things that worried at her the most.
It was her nails.
They were a deep ebony and sharp as a bird's talons.
The sight of them frightened her, causing her heart to beat louder until the sound of it was all she heard.
Wait. That wasn't right. It wasn't her heart at all, but the beat of someone else's. And it drew her like a moth to the flame. Without a will of her own, Jacqueline drifted towards the sound.
A room loomed up ahead and it was here that the pounding grew louder.
But something about the beat was off. It wasn't steady. In fact as she drifted through the hospital room's doorway, the noise of it began to slow down.
Someone was about to die.
Jacqueline could almost taste the essence of a soul about to let go.
She found herself hovering above a hospital bed. Below her lay an old man whose face twitched with pain. His gnarled hands opened and closed as he took each ragged breath his lungs afforded him. Though covered with a sheet, the outline of his painfully thin body was clear.
This man was preparing to die.
Nearby in one of the worn hospital chairs sat an old woman with white, curled hair. She stared at the figure in the bed, tears glistening in her eyes.
It was then that Jacqueline realized the woman couldn't see her.
The thought was freeing.
No one would witness the little drink of the soul she would take as she helped the man pass on. Her mouth opened and a beautiful song, more beautiful than any she'd ever created in her mortal form, rang out. The really fascinating thing to Jacqueline was that the melody had color. She could literally see the tune coming from her mouth in gentle blue hues that stretched down to the man in the bed.
He stirred as the first rays of the song touched his skin.
"Albert?" The woman leaned forward and grasped the old mans hand. "Albert?"
The man moaned softly.
"Oh, honey," the woman whispered. "It's time. Just let go. It's alright. I understand."
Albert shuddered and with a long sigh, his soul pulled free from his body. It drifted up to Jacqueline, a warm yellow glow that she reached greedily for. Her eyes closed and she felt her body drifting out of the room as she allowed the sensation of the spirit to run through her before it melted into the ether of the after life. It tickled her senses, and a long sigh of ecstasy slipped from her.
So strong.
So electrifying.
And the whole time her song continued, full of lament and woe. Vaguely, she heard the sobs of the old woman, but she didn't open her eyes. Instead, she let herself drift, feeling almost drunk on the sip of the old man's soul she'd taken.
What a dream!
"Not a dream, my dear."
Startled, Jacqueline opened her eyes, finding herself back in Matilda's hospital room.
Below her she could make out her own mortal form, curled up in a chair next to the bed. A short woman with long black hair stood by her sleeping form though she stared up at Jacqueline with knowing eyes. A pleated dark skirt and a form fitting silk blouse showed off the woman's petite frame. Shiny black high heels encased her feet.
"You must be Jacqueline." The woman gave her a warm smile. "I've been expecting you."
"I thought I was dreaming."
"Well, you are asleep, at least your mortal form is, but you're actually on what we call the astral plane right now." The woman gestured to the air around them. "If you were a full time banshee, this is where you would live permanently."
"Why am I here now?" Jacqueline asked.
"Tell you what, why don't you come down and I'll explain it all to you," the woman suggested.
"Um…I don't know how to get down."
"They really should make some sort of handbook for new arrivals." The woman shook her head in sympathy. "It's simple. Just think the action and it will happen."
Sure enough, when Jacqueline
Strange. But it wasn't those things that worried at her the most.
It was her nails.
They were a deep ebony and sharp as a bird's talons.
The sight of them frightened her, causing her heart to beat louder until the sound of it was all she heard.
Wait. That wasn't right. It wasn't her heart at all, but the beat of someone else's. And it drew her like a moth to the flame. Without a will of her own, Jacqueline drifted towards the sound.
A room loomed up ahead and it was here that the pounding grew louder.
But something about the beat was off. It wasn't steady. In fact as she drifted through the hospital room's doorway, the noise of it began to slow down.
Someone was about to die.
Jacqueline could almost taste the essence of a soul about to let go.
She found herself hovering above a hospital bed. Below her lay an old man whose face twitched with pain. His gnarled hands opened and closed as he took each ragged breath his lungs afforded him. Though covered with a sheet, the outline of his painfully thin body was clear.
This man was preparing to die.
Nearby in one of the worn hospital chairs sat an old woman with white, curled hair. She stared at the figure in the bed, tears glistening in her eyes.
It was then that Jacqueline realized the woman couldn't see her.
The thought was freeing.
No one would witness the little drink of the soul she would take as she helped the man pass on. Her mouth opened and a beautiful song, more beautiful than any she'd ever created in her mortal form, rang out. The really fascinating thing to Jacqueline was that the melody had color. She could literally see the tune coming from her mouth in gentle blue hues that stretched down to the man in the bed.
He stirred as the first rays of the song touched his skin.
"Albert?" The woman leaned forward and grasped the old mans hand. "Albert?"
The man moaned softly.
"Oh, honey," the woman whispered. "It's time. Just let go. It's alright. I understand."
Albert shuddered and with a long sigh, his soul pulled free from his body. It drifted up to Jacqueline, a warm yellow glow that she reached greedily for. Her eyes closed and she felt her body drifting out of the room as she allowed the sensation of the spirit to run through her before it melted into the ether of the after life. It tickled her senses, and a long sigh of ecstasy slipped from her.
So strong.
So electrifying.
And the whole time her song continued, full of lament and woe. Vaguely, she heard the sobs of the old woman, but she didn't open her eyes. Instead, she let herself drift, feeling almost drunk on the sip of the old man's soul she'd taken.
What a dream!
"Not a dream, my dear."
Startled, Jacqueline opened her eyes, finding herself back in Matilda's hospital room.
Below her she could make out her own mortal form, curled up in a chair next to the bed. A short woman with long black hair stood by her sleeping form though she stared up at Jacqueline with knowing eyes. A pleated dark skirt and a form fitting silk blouse showed off the woman's petite frame. Shiny black high heels encased her feet.
"You must be Jacqueline." The woman gave her a warm smile. "I've been expecting you."
"I thought I was dreaming."
"Well, you are asleep, at least your mortal form is, but you're actually on what we call the astral plane right now." The woman gestured to the air around them. "If you were a full time banshee, this is where you would live permanently."
"Why am I here now?" Jacqueline asked.
"Tell you what, why don't you come down and I'll explain it all to you," the woman suggested.
"Um…I don't know how to get down."
"They really should make some sort of handbook for new arrivals." The woman shook her head in sympathy. "It's simple. Just think the action and it will happen."
Sure enough, when Jacqueline
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