Tentatively he walks forward, through the rolling mist that envelopes him. Here and there sparks flash, pockets of light float past, a million different shades of sparkle and dark. Unsure of where he is going he continues to move forward, an outstretched hand reaching for something he can’t see, a presence he can’t touch.
She is beside him, quietly, patiently. She makes no sound and as soon as he turns she is gone, but never far.
The light shifts and blooms, bubbles and swirls form in the cloud, streaks of shimmering brilliance merge into the thick mire. It is eerily beautiful, completely still and constantly churning. The colour remains but everything else shifts in regular rhythm, smooth and soft. He is floating. Flying.
And he knows she is there. Beside him. Somewhere. Comfort. Safety. Peace. He doesn’t want to leave.
All too soon, even though he has no sense of time, harsh reality floods his view. Bold colours and noise, and his senses return slowly.