“Are you all right now?” little Flamina asks her father softly as she sits in front of him on the white floor of the hallway.
“Did you pull me out, honey?” the Doctor asks, patting his daughter on her little olive head of snowy hair.
The child looks away, down the hall.
“We should go, Daddy,” she sings, prancing in place in front of his cross-legged form, casting little dancing shadows over his smooth, chinny face.
He stands up, and for a moment, a brushing of something touches his shoulder, flooding over a side of him, culminating across his back like the cascade of water over a falls. He reaches with a quivering hand to flick it away, but the sensation remains there, hovering. Touching. Then he remembers.
Flamina is ahead of him in the long hallway, shining like a dew-damp spring bird in the morning sun.
Now her foot is tugging into the white white floor.
He reaches out to her, waving her on.
Smiling as her small body is caressed by waves of milky marble.
The eyes are large marbles on a plate, rolling open- but in shock, not fear.
Her white hair is the last thing to escape his sight.
He sighs and runs forward, his chest heaving as his fingers attain a balcony.
The balcony looks over an entrance hall with stairs leading up through passages not accessible to his immediate area.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, just let it happen! Daddy’s going to...be along in a… you just… let it… happen. You just… it’s okay, it’s…”