.... she backed into the hallway from the room. What was it she meant to go get? Or, maybe it was just that she needed to get out of the room. Something felt cool, damp, clingy ... ahhh, the overactive imagination since she was spending too much time alone packing after her loss.

Then she felt it, or thought she did. There was that slight butt to her toes. Then the feeling of a damp breath. She felt light touches. No, that was just imagination again. NO ... something almost damp. No, drafty old house, maybe a cool breeze passing close to her fingers. Then the sensation of something sniffing and then exhaling ... damp. She made fists and backed up slightly. These old houses had drafts everywhere. Yes, just a draft, she thought.

Then she felt, this time she felt the cool, damp touch just brush her chin. Inhale ... exhale ... she thought she did, but found herself holding her breath. Her fists became fans in stroking the air. She flailed at the air around her. Poor thing was at once terrified of angering an entity, and feeling totally defenseless without some reality of form.

The mass of huffing and puffing and sniffing and touching began to take shape. She turned as if to flee down the hall to what she now feared might be more terrors. Instead, found herself held gently and kissed. Neck ... then lightly on her lips ... neck again by a form beginning to lift and carry her back to the bedroom.

She felt herself lifted easily with a slow and gentle movement. The steps! She tried breaking free. Then she was set down and untouched for a second. A second that gave her thoughts of still escaping. She backed-up one, then two steps ... faster! She might make it yet! Make it? She realized she was headed in the direction she would have been carried. She collapsed at the thought, deciding to be difficult no matter what her fate. Then new terror from something vaguely familiar. Loving arms seemed to enfold her.

The touches were still gentle, lingering. Some felt like kisses. Neck ... forehead ... neck ... fingertips. She started to cry. Soft sobs. For the life of her, she wasn't quite sure why. Neck ... forehead ... neck ... fingertips ... a fading form, and then what seemed to be a gentle hug and nothing more.

A writing exercise I will probably play with many more times. Thanks to "whisper" for the fantasy lover reminder.