As George floated in what was some peculiar layer of X’s subconscious, he willed himself to take on physical form. It was a difficult task—one that left him on the brink of passing out—yet focusing with all his might, he appeared just as he did in real life. With a full set of whiskers, fur, nose, tail and everything else in between, he was as real as he thought himself to be. Wrapped tightly around his waist was a rope, and when he turned his head, he could see it leading to a doorway made of light. Beyond the door, the other animals—and himself for that matter—were busy channelling their energy into her body as she lied sprawled out on the bathroom floor. He didn’t have long. They wouldn’t have it in them to carry on much longer. They were only small after all, and yet he didn’t have to worry, for when he turned back, it seemed as though X had finally beaten her devil.
“Sweet lord” he uttered.
From a fiery comet to a flower in full bloom, she had risen from the darkness; only the darkness was now no more. In its place, there shone a white light as bright as any he had ever seen, and there, curled up in the nucleus of the light, she had been born again.
“Prudence?”
When she opened her eyes, what he glimpsed he could never quite bring himself to say, for it was beyond the realm of mere words and logic. Even for a wise old cat like him, there was no way he could even begin to fathom the magic she had placed within his heart. Blinking at him, she appeared in the same skin that was wrapped around her bones back in the bathroom, and yet here there was an ethereal quality to her beauty that seemed as ageless as it was wordless. She looked like a baby, he thought. He’d seen them before, for the lady next door had given birth to twins the year before last, and yet as he watched her as she floated before him, she was so much more, for she was as pure as the snow that had yet to fall. Unblemished and untouched, she emerged from her cocoon, and although the world would stain her yet again, he had no doubt it wouldn’t come close to claiming her as own of its own no matter how hard it would try.
“George?” she whispered.
With her hands tucked under her chin and her knees pulled into her chest, she looked at him as a newborn would gaze at its mother. And in that look, George knew the moment had arrived, and after taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he flung himself towards her.
“I’m coming,” he cried, and with the rope around his waist and his paws stretched out before him, like Superman he raced forwards, ready to bring her back.
A Journal for Damned Lovers UK
Author S. K. Nicholas 
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