Salma's eyelids within the coffin trembled slightly, and then she slowly opened her eyes.
She met those colorful irises permanently etched in the deepest memories, and Beckland's aged body couldn't help but tremble. Trembling, he stood up and walked step by step to the front of the coffin.
Salma looked at him steadily, the aged face before her rapidly overlapped with a memory of a young and persistent face from a bygone age. Her lips curved into a hint of a smile as she spoke softly.
"It's been a long time, Beckland."
Tears slid ceaselessly down Beckland's deeply furrowed face.
"Salma, you shouldn't have awakened. I would have been content to watch over your slumber forever."
"At least then..." his lips trembled, "at least then..."
"Hold me tight, Beckland," Salma spoke softly, her body becoming much more ethereal than when she had just awoken, "My time is running out."
Beckland carefully embraced Salma, as if holding a fragile treasure, and gently helped her up.
