“He knows what you desire. He wants to give it to you. To help you be whole again.”
Torren’s gaze locked with Larana’s, the utter conviction in her voice and the emotions coming from her touch too intense to ignore. He gasped suddenly as a concentrated itching sensation flashed just below each of his shoulder blades.
“Please everyone, get back!” She released him, her smile even brighter than before and waved those around him to step away.
Suddenly afraid, though he wasn’t sure of what or why, Torren intended to turn away; but his knees grew abruptly weak and brought him to the ground.
“Wha—”
Music seemed to fill his mind and from there flooded the rest of his body. His breathing grew ragged; but he was barely aware of it, the beauty of the music distancing him from his physical self.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sal’s concern was obvious.
“Nothing is wrong” was Larana’s happy reply. “Things are finally being made right.”
He heard them, but it was all as if from a distance. Braced on hands and knees, his body jerked, but there was no pain—it was diffused by the music.
“Micca, help me,” Larana said in an excited voice. “We have to cut his shirt.”
Unable to do anything to stop them, Torren felt a shadow of shame rise, for his scars would now be exposed, even though he’d thought it didn’t matter as much as before. Like a gentle lover, however, the music caressed him and took the shame away. He felt cool air touch his skin as his shirt was carefully cut away from his body.
The music swelled in a crescendo, and it swept him up with it. His back spasmed as he felt a great pressure fill him, rising with the music. All at once, the pressure swooshed out from him through his back. As he reeled with relief and dizziness, gasps rang all around him, harmonizing with the music still ringing in his mind.
Then, suddenly, it stopped. Weak, not sure of what had just occurred, Torren closed his eyes and let himself drop. He didn’t hit the floor. Hands clamped on to him and pulled him up. Before he could panic, cushions were placed beneath him, and he was helped to sit. He felt strangely unbalanced.
Larana was before him, holding a cup to his lips. “They’re beautiful, Torren, beautiful!”
Drinking the strong wine, he blinked at her with little understanding.
“Look.”
Attempting to do as she bid, he followed her pointing finger over his shoulder.
“It’s His gift to you. His gift. So you can believe again. So everyone can.”
Torren’s eyes widened as he forgot everyone and everything but what met his gaze. They arched behind him—gold, not the usual white—and wondrous. Disbelieving, he scanned one of them, extending it unconsciously to make it easier to see.
The feathers appeared soft and downy like a newborn bird’s. In amazement, he reached up with a shaking hand to touch his new pair of wings.
End
About The Author
Born in 1964 in Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico, Gloria bounced around several states during the teenage years, finally ending up in Texas for good. Married for twenty years, she is the proud parent of a very independent daughter. She originally entered the University of Texas in Arlington to obtain an Aerospace degree, but eventually moved over to the University of Texas in Dallas to gain a BA in Interdisciplinary Studies, and is currently working in the finance/accounting field. Her hobbies at present are reading, writing, watching Japanese animation, collecting music, and translating Japanese comics.
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