“Our fingers entwined like ribbons of light” she whispered.
She always whispered though her voice resonated; plunging deep within blood and bone. As I shivered with apprehension and something not quite reaching fear.
“Ribbons of light.. “ She repeated as if quoting some long lost poetry fragment. “Then I was falling, falling and woke up here”. Her dark eyes blinked slow. “To be Youngest Sister with bright rooms and so much food. But the Mother and the Father..” here her whisper faltered, as it always did.
“They’re not like you. Not like others”. I strained to hear, to understand.
“Oh they know such secrets” she mouthed silent.
Saturday Centus. Prompt: "our fingers entwined like ribbons of light".