untitledEmerging from the shadows on the other side, he appeared only vaguely menacing, as if eradiating danger involuntarily, almost unaware of doing it at all. I held my breath. I hadn't seen another watcher in a long time. "Still waiting?" he asked softly. "I always am," I sighed, without raising my head. "As we all are," he said, and I could hear the smile and the slight nod in his voice. I still didn't dare looking at his face, so I stared at his slender hand with its neatly filed fingernails instead. The river flew by between us, whispering of long-lost souls and long-forgotten dreams. Sometimes there seemed to be faces materialising from its depths, dissolving in just the same instant, and someone unfamiliar with the waters might have doubted their existence, might have told himself it were only his own senses deceiving him. But both of us knew the river and had heard its song many a time. Both of us had seen the last bridges crumbling. "Don't you ever get tired of sitting here?" "Is this place not the key to every forbidden desire, to every hidden thought? How could I ever get tired of sitting here?" Mist rose from the water, swirling and spiralling into forms that were to me like veiled faces of beloved ones - I knew them, knew what they were, yet couldn't get a hold of them.
He'd left without another word, and when I finally looked up, I saw the
place where he'd been standing, yet couldn't find a trace of him. A shiver
ran down my spine, icy fingers on my bare skin. Another illusion?
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