Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OFC and this ficlet.
The clouds mask the moon slowly in their misty veil, and her eyes are locked onto that strange glow that lingers behind. Her heart pounds inside her chest as the clouds creep slowly away, revealing the full moon once more. The moonlight glows brighter, the moon itself pulsates, mimicking a heartbeat. With one hand placed over her heart, she reaches to the sky with the other, and it seems as though the stars themselves are within her grasp.
But it is not a star she takes hold of. His feathers are soft, his grip is strong, and the world around them disappears into that wondrous, otherworldly glow for a few moments until the shift is over and she can feel the warmth of sand beneath her feet and the chill of the ocean breeze blowing passed her.
"You can open your eyes now," he says, his voice harsh and unusual, his words are almost incomprehensible. Her brow furrows as her eyes open up slowly, her gaze lowering to his feathered face. Her heart begins to race again, and the waves wash up a little higher against the shore.
He flexes his wing against her palm, his first attempt to release himself a gentle one. "You can also let go now," he mumbles, brow furrowing.
The sky darkens a little. "No," she pleads, the thunder suddenly sounding in the distance mirroring the throb inside her chest. "Don't let go."
He cocks his head to the side, confused. "What is this?" he mumbles, and the sounds to follow are intangible as he shakes his head and wrenches himself free. "Let go. I don't have to hold your hand."
Lightning strikes, thunder roars and the sky unleashes its fury as she reaches for him again, reaches through him until she is stumbling forward. She braces herself with one hand pressed to the cool glass of her bedroom window. Her chest rises and falls with each deep breath she takes as she sinks to her knees, her hand leaving moist streaks behind on the window pane as her palm is dragged across it.
It was all in my head, she thinks. God, Mika, what is wrong with you? You're too old to play make-believe.
That is when she realizes she still clutches her shirt tight, and there's something pressed against her palm that does not feel like her tank top. Trembling, she othe hand that had been pressed to her heart and gasps as a somewhat crumpled feather falls from her palm and to the floor.
This isn't possible...
Before she can gather the courage to take into her hand again, the feather dissolves into a dust that seems to rise and vanish into the moonlight. Looking skyward, her breath hitches in her throat once more; the moon glows bright and throbs like a heart that beats anxious and confused, worlds away.