'It's time to wake up, my son.'
An angel was whispering in his ear. It tickled his heart, and he felt as if he was drowning in warmth, doused with never-ending satisfaction. He didn't want to wake up and give up this feeling.
She was chuckling at his reluctance. It was sweet to be heard, like divine chimes singing against the breeze. It was beautiful.
'My dear, Moulin. Come, it's time to rise.'
There was a hand softly caressing the top of his head. Suddenly, Moulin wanted to cry. It felt so familiar; he didn't want it to disappear.
"Mother..."
"My Lord? My Lord, It is time to wake up."
This time the voice speaking to him wasn't soothing and soft anymore. Instead, it was bright and filled with concern. Long elegant lashes fluttered as silver eyes gradually opened. The drowsiness was still evident in his expression as Moulin awoke.
