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There is a pleasant ache that suffuses her body. She had begun at dawn and worked until evening glimmered along the horizon in her rose garden. It is in many ways a delicious sensation of muscles stretched and used after too long a time of indifference. Indeed, if but for a moment, this pleasing pain distracts her from the deeper ache in her heart, the echo of emptiness left by the recent death of her husband. In the hinterland of consciousness, gliding between reality and dreams, Shelli wonders why the fragrance of the roses is suddenly stronger. A faint, preternatural stirring of the baby fine hairs at the back of her neck causes Shelli to stretch, though languidly, the muscles of her back and legs a slow ripple. She senses…what? It is as if someone is in the room with her, and yet, there is no fear, even at the soft stirring of her hair being brushed aside. ~I’m~ dreaming, she tells herself as the scent of rose grows stronger, and a gentle touch too smooth for human finger, softly. The sky poured water so violently and in such abondance that it hurt the back of the unlucky ones who had to run from shelter to shelter, bent in two and holding a soaked hat, a newspaper or more rarely, a worn umbrella over their head.Relatively protected from the deluge by a low balcony, a dark figure stood in a poorly lit alley, watching the occasionnal car drive by slowly. His felt hat and trench coat were dripping with water nonetheless as he often stepped out into the rain to take a quick glance around the corner and see if any pedestrian was coming his way.A truck passed by just as his head popped out of behind the wall. The strong lights made his large, red-circled eyes blink. He rushed back to the balcony, took off his hat and rubbed his bald head with two large and green fingers."I've no business here, muttered Raphael. It's raining cats and dogs. I should head back." Putting on his damp hat again, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked an empty can. "I shouldn't.
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