Caring 💫 💫

Mangled memories of a life abruptly ended. She had lost her child, and her grief hadmangled memories of a life abruptly ended.

She had lost her child, and her grief had

In the wee hours of the night, as nature dozed, she would feel them-the weight of

unseen eyes pressing gently against her skin, a presence that was neither threatening

nor unkind. The air would shift, cool and heavy, as if the walls of her small cottage were

filled with a distant, muffled murmur. These were the moments when the apparitions

came to her, drawn by the light of her gift, the ancient energy that had passed through

her bloodline for generations. She had long been acquainted with the otherworldly.

Since childhood, she had seen the restless shades that wandered between worlds, lost

in their unresolved sorrows, their hopes unfinished. What set her apart was not the

seeing, but her gift of communion. Spirits knew her as one who could hear them,

understand them, and help them find the release they sought. They never approached

her with malice; there was no need. She was their harbour, a healer of fragmented souls.

The apparitions came to her with respect, like a procession of weary travellers seeking

refuge at the end of a long, dark road. Some appeared as little more than shadows, faint

and flickering, the remnants of long-forgotten lives. Others were clearer, their faces

etched with  grief, anger, and confusion. They never spoke aloud; their thoughts

passed to her as whispers in the air, subtle impressions carried on the wind, mingling

with the crackle of the hearth fire. One night, a woman appeared, her form translucent,

shimmering in the dim glow of the fire. Her face was streaked with silent tears, her

hands clasped in a plea for help. She rose from her seat by the fire, feeling the sadness

that enveloped the spirit. She extended her hand, though she knew it would pass

through the woman’s form. “How can I help you?” she asked, her voice soft, filled with

understanding. The woman’s story unfolded in her mind as images, emotions, the

mangled memories of a life abruptly ended. She had lost her child, and her grief had

bound her to the earth, unable to move on. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be

pulled into the spirit’s pain to feel the depths of her sorrow. It was overwhelming, but

she did not resist. To heal the lost, she had to bear their burdens with them. With a

grounding breath, she began her work, summoning the energies that surged within her.

Her hands moved through the air, tracing the paths of forgotten prayers as ancient

words spill from her lips. The room thickened with the scent of herbs-sage, lavender,

and rosemary-carried on a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere

at once. The spirit wept silently, her form flickering like a candle in the wind until she

felt the shift-the lightness that came when the soul found its way. She and the

apparition shared a smile-a fleeting, wistful thing-and faded slowly, like mist

dissolving at dawn. She watched until the space where the spirit had stood was empty,

the room returning to its quiet stillness. She sat down heavily, her body tired, but her

heart full. Each soul she helped took something from her, but they also left her with a

sense of peace, knowing they were no longer lost. This was her life, part of her calling. She

never questioned why the spirits sought her out, only that they needed her. They

always came with reverence, drawn to her healing energy, and she always gave them

what they sought-rest, release, and a final whisper of comfort before they disappeared

into the great beyond. It was not a burden but an honour, and as long as they called upon

her, she would show them the compassion they so desperately sought.

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