She walked into his room out of the shadows in the corner by the closet. It seemed as natural as his mother walking into the room to call him to dinner. It didn't surprise him in the least even though a part of him knew there was something seriously amiss here. He looked up from the screen of his laptop as soon as he saw something move in the shadows. He saw it was a woman dressed in a long robe tied loosely at her waist with a cord of some sort. The robe, a dress he decided, was a dark color, being almost black. It looked like something from a movie, or out of history books. No one dressed like that any more. It briefly crossed his mind that he might be dreaming but if so it was the most lucid dream in existence.
She walked out of the shadows and he got a better look at her as she walked towards him. She had a nice looking body, but not overly so, and certainly not homely. All his attention was drawn to her face, he studied it. It drew him to her, called him to her. He felt himself falling into her. It had a look of infinite sadness. There was no trace of a frown, not even a wrinkle of age to mar her pure visage, but oh did he feel the pain emanating from her. This was a person that had suffered, and unjustly at that. His head tilted to one side as he watched her come to him. How did he know this, he pondered. Was there something in her form, the grace with which she moved, the manner in which she carried herself that gave these clues? He shook his head as she came up and stood next to him.
He looked up at her not the least bit afraid at any of this having happened. He wondered how this could be. This was a situation that most would consider absolutely fantastical and he was curious more than anything. He looked up at her with a questioning look on his face he wanted to talk to ask her a question, but all thought had left him. All he could feel was, was what? Her sadness, and pain. It was filling the room and was starting to effect him. A tear came to his eye and began to roll down his cheek. She reached her hand out and wiped away the tear and rested her hand on his cheek. A smile crossed her face, but it was not a happy smile. It was a smile filled with memories of times past, memories of things that ought not to have been done, and things left undone with most unfortunate consequences. The more he looked the more he saw the source of her sadness and it began to be overwhelming.
He stared into her eyes, part of him wanting more than anything else to stand and take her in his arms and offer some solace, some comfort, some small bit of compassion, but he could not. The other part, the part that was growing with each passing second felt her sadness and pain as deeply as if it was his own. He was powerless, he couldn't move at all. All he could do was stare up into her eyes. He realized that all her pain was in fact becoming his own. Her sadness and pain was flowing into him through the touch of her hand.
When he realized this he knew it needed to stop. Even though some small part of him knew this though most of him didn't want it to. Her touch was exquisite. It didn't make sense but feeling her touch him, even though it filled him with an almost infinite sadness and pain, was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt in his life. He didn't want it to ever end.
Tears were flowing down his cheek when she finally withdrew her hand. They were matched by the same tears flowing down hers. He had never felt this intensity of emotion in his life, and it was unbearable. It was almost more than he could stand. She turned to leave and he called to her, “Wait, who are you?” It was all he could think to ask.
She turned and looked at him and spoke a single word, “Melpomone,” and turned and walked back into the shadows, and he turned back to his keyboard and began to write.
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