(53) It's Real |Regan's POV|

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She was shining in the darkness, her pale skin bathing in the sparkle of the snow that had covered everything.

"It's real," she said, her breath coming out in a fog.

It was starting again, the sky beginning to cry with feathery white tears falling on us. The scent of frozen earth, fresh snow and that of her—the woman who held my heart in her palm every second of every day—tickled my nose.

Perhaps, it was a dream, just an illusion like the many I'd seen while roaming these woods but the smile still tugged at my lips. It spilled out, a magical feeling inside me that had every fiber of my being rupturing, and I couldn't stop my tears that answered hers.

Feet taking a step toward me, her storm-filled eyes connected with mine, her hand rose in between us to offer her touch that I craved like a man who'd lived a lifetime without another's caress.

Everything of her that I could take, I longed to take as I longed to breathe—needed.

"I have something to tell you, Regan," she spoke in a voice that was as soft as a wind's kiss against skin, a kiss that swept you off of your feet and lifted you up to the clouds.

She was my wind. She was the storm in my world that shook and broke and swept everything away.

And she was the force to give me a new one—a world with her right at its center.

"Give me your hand," she urged.

I was afraid, so afraid that she'd slip right through my fingers when I clasped my hand over hers, that this dream would break as soon as I touched her.

I hesitated. I didn't want to break the illusion. I wanted this one to last.

"Please, Regan. Just give me your hand." The storm turned soft, her shock dissipating as she gently coerced me to do as she bid.

Like a child, frightened to the bone, I reached for her hand. I let my hand hover there, barely brushing fingers against hers as I braced myself for the inevitable.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she shouted, losing her nerve, and grasped my hand in a tight grip.

A soft sigh escaped my lips when she didn't fade out in front of my eyes, but I held on, surrendering to what the illusion offered.

Being able to hold onto her was going farther than any of these figments ever went, but I didn't care as long as she stayed right there, hand clasped against mine.

Slowly, as if starting to second-guess her decision, Scarlet guided my hand underneath layers of cloth to rest on top of her belly, skin on skin.

Her gray eyes, even softer than a second ago, almost vulnerable, sucked me inside when she looked up at me once more and said, "Can you feel it, Regan?"

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