As if I had stepped into my dreams, her fingers reached for the glass, cautiously, as if she was not sure whether it would burn her or not. Her finger barely tested the glass, and then she touched it, as if if she tried to reach through it she could break the barrier existing there. But as soon as she realized it wouldn't burn her, and it wouldn't move, she had no concern with it. Her deep green eyes startled me and their flashing depths cooled to a slow simmer. They flung the firelight back into my own calm brown eyes, and the heat burned them.
I had never seen her so calm before- so sure and sorrowful. Her dark hair fell in gentle curls over her shoulders. Her face was almost peace, her visage almost free of the torment that so often twisted its features- she looked the part of a wounded dove.
Her lips parted to speak, but no words would come, a tear slipped from her eye as she gazed into my soul.
But yet! She was moving away- her feet were carrying her backward. A deep darkness had seeped up from the ground- like a fog of spilled ink it pooled around her ankles and then drew over her shoulders and around her arms, taking her backwards.
The peace and the sanity slipped from her face as the darkness grew deeper. It's arm slipped around her waist and drew her, struggling, away. Her lips parted in panic- her hand left the glass with a jerk- yet she reached out to me- pleading for me to save her from the darkness, but I couldn't; the glass, you see, it held me back.
