31. Bastian
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BASTIAN
T he scent of snow, and citrus, and lily of the valley clung around him like a shroud.
It draped over him, dulling his other senses. Dulling the pain.
Someone was calling his name, over and over again.
“ Bastian. Bastian. Bastian.”
That voice… it sounded just like she smelled. Crisp and sweet and cold, but not in a cruel way. In a refreshing way, like icy water on a burning hot day.
The pain surged, and that voice slipped away, the scent with it.
Then, again: “It’s alright, Bastian. You’re okay. You’re alright.”
Something cool pressed against the nape of his neck. Swept across the back of his hand in gentle, soothing strokes.
He clawed his way through the haze, toward that intoxicating scent. Toward that soothing touch.
But when he got too close, the pain rose up and knocked him back, forcing him to retreat behind the safety of that gentle veil.
Snow.
Citrus.
Lily of the valley.