Moon’s Voice

I’ve decided to share a piece of the writing I’ve been working on for the past while. I’ve had to rewrite various sections of the story, and will no doubt have a lot to fix in this one, but I thought I’d share the work I’ve done in the past two hours.

Silver drenched my mind as her voice flowed past my ears. I felt lighter and higher, as if I was floating in front of this woman. My sight and hearing seemed to be expanding and overcoming my other senses. I couldn’t feel the breeze, and I couldn’t smell the earth of the graves any longer. I couldn’t move my eyes from her.
Silver-white hair moved down from her head like a waterfall and collected below her feet, for it was she who was above the ground, not I. It moved in the currents of air, uncountable strands giving off their pale light. Tiny moths flitted between her hairs, in a dance with the moving light. It was all motion around her stillness and her quiet beauty was outlined.
Her eyes held me locked in place. The grey-blue spheres were still, but my mind saw tides and quick life in them, wisdom and age. But the slight face in which those found a home was of only youth and strength. When lids swept down and my own eyes became freed she was fragile.
Her limbs were as unsubstantial as the ones held out by the birch that grew at the gate. Slender fingers on her hands reached out and drew cool circles around my eyes. Then they trailed down my temples and pushed back the hair from my ears. She leaned closer, her pale lips cooling my lobe with her breath.
Again her voice entered me in the same words, “Sheridan, you will wake tonight.” She moved back once the words had quieted, though “wake tonight” echoed, trapped in my head. Her left hand gripped my shoulder as her other pushed my eyelids closed.
My eyes dampened from the outside, from lips or a tongue, I could not tell, but surely of this silver woman. Then a second time there was pressure followed by moisture. With the third touch my lids felt aglow.
It seemed my pupils were becoming holes, emptying away. There was a soft fluttering beyond them, persistent and growing in speed. Her cold fingers opened my eyes and the wings moved inside. Once, twice they fluttered. A third time they grazed the caves my eyes had become. Three more times they flew in one spot as I felt my pupils reforming around them and sight returned in a fog. On the seventh sweep they stopped.
“You have woken to sight,” came from the thin lips I could now see again. “A second gift now,” she breathed.
Her hands again rose to my eyes and sealed them softly. A beautiful hum began to resonate. As clear as her voice, and saturating my hearing, it rose and fell while twisting my wonder into all the emotions I had felt. Sorrow rose above the others, for loss was my freshest memory.
She sang to me with words I did not know. They were sweet and strong syllables colliding with longing and lost ones. She let her voice grow louder, and I felt as though my mind was about to shatter, but she continued on. The words seemed to freeze in my head as silence filled everything.
“You are awake, moon child, you may sleep, listener.”