A glorious sound, one she had never heard before, flooded the room. This noise was that of snowflakes and bells mixed into one impacting combination. She felt the sadness of the music seep into her body slowly and spread throughout her veins. The magic of the melody drew her curiosity and she slowly advanced toward the door, afraid that this was a dream and one wrong step would waver the music. The woman carefully pushes on the door, and with a slight creak of its hinges it opens and she peers inside.
The room is nearly a full white, from the floors to the wall and ceiling. But wonderful cherry wood pillars rest in each corner of the open space. Whether they protruded truly out of the ground or the ceiling, it is unknown. A magnificent ornate light fixture is suspended overhead, having branched supports for a number of lights. The golden chandelier slightly sways from one side to the next, giving the room total luminance.
Placed in the center of the room is a petite girl dressed in a beautiful white nightgown, who was seated at a stool. She is leaning over a big machine of some kind from which the sweet and sad sound emitted. The instrument was like an elegant beast, sent to life by the girl's slender fingers. Keys of ivory white and smaller keys of charcoal black decorated the enchanted object. Smooth brown wood curled delicately underneath the keys in which the girl's fingers were dancing over.
When the girl stops playing, there is silence. It hangs like a thick cloud of smoke, giving the area an atmosphere for suffocation. The woman hadn’t realized that she had wandered completely into the room. But she still kept one hand curled over the golden doorknob. Her hazel eyes follow the little girl’s movements, watching as she slides off the stool. With the delicate right foot moving to touch the marble floor first, the left follows in pursuit. Slowly, she rises to her full height and straightens out the flowing gown.
“H-how old. . . are you?” the woman questions, her voice faint and lost within the surrounding air. But she wasn’t even sure as to why. She takes in a sharp breath, the odd taste of peppermint getting caught in her throat. Yet, the aroma is of lavender.
Without turning around, the child replies in a gentle and innocent voice, “Eight.”
Clearly, the lady is stunned. Her optics widen as she breathes out in repetition, “Eight?”
On the balls of her feet, the girl whirls around. Each strawberry curls rests back into perfect place, swirling around the shoulders and reaching the waist. The gown gently swings about before settling against her elfin body. A face, much like an angel’s, breaks into a brilliant grin. Both rounded cheeks become rosy, the dust of slight red partially hiding freckles. Thin eyebrows curve over large and loving green orbs, which are separated by a short and adorable nose.
“You’re. . .” The woman loses her ability to speak at the sight. She could feel the tears swell in each duct. As time passed and the muteness continued, the light in the room seemed to gradually lessen. Her sweaty palm slips away from the knob and reaches outwards towards the girl.
“Cadence~” She chimes, sounding much like a playful tune.
With a charming giggle, she takes hold of the woman’s hand. The second that contact is made, breathtaking, pure white, wings sprout from the child’s back and spread to each side of the room.
The wings of. . .
“Your guardian angel~”
And a lone tear rolls down the woman’s cheek as the two are engulfed in brilliant light.
We all have a guardian angel. These divine beings have a difficult job. To make sure that time doesn’t run short for their human. They must constantly be alert. Watching without so much as a second’s break. But, there are still moments in which a guardian angel can’t alter.
They are the clock wielders. Every second they follow their human and play a melody. Whether it be with the use of a violin, a flute, a guitar or a harp. The guardian angels’ clock is not an actual device, but instead an instrument. The human ears are incapable of hearing this music. Their very own songs are inaudible. And everyone has a different song from the next person.
It’s the moment in which their tune comes to an end, so does their life. Some are longer than others. There are those out there who only receive two minute pieces. . . or less.
And it’s only after death that the human can confront their guardian angel.
It is then that the human becomes an audience of one.
It is then that the guardian angel for once. . . feels alive. . . being seen. Being loved. Being heard.