Smooth, her voice spreads like buttercream across a fog draped abyss. Warm, caramel melting beside a blazing fire, logs popping in excitement to dance in the flames.
Over the churning sea she calls to you, slow in her symphony, direct in delivery. A soothing breath falls around your shoulders, tender to the touch. Your eyes lock ahead, straining through the steam that rises upwards like a reverse rainfall. Just a glimpse of her will set your heart at ease, if only for a moment so you could bathe in her light.
Your ear strains to make out more of the melody, as the magnet of your heart pulls your ribs, your limbs, your veins, to reattach themselves to this maestro. The notes she raises are deliberate and delicious, sweet to the taste and pleasing to digest. Currents weave your path closer, urgently, to hers, as you helplessly release your will to her rhapsody.
In the final crescendos, she catches your contentment and creates a terrorizing throb of dread, where waves, cold and alerting, slap at your face, and you realize, awake and afraid, that you are sailing to your doom.