There was guilt and concern for what the Faerie was doing to the young woman. It knew it was cruel to evoke the dead, but all the same she would suffer alone. Truly the kind that would suffer unto death dreaming of love lost. But the Pooka was in it nature a mischief maker after all, how could it be truly blamed? The music box played and her mind wandered and in its feline form the fair creature moved upon the bed with padded paw.<br/><br/>What would Jon say about Maggie’s pining? Perhaps he’d comfort her and shield her from her emotions, but more likely he’d raise her chin and say, “If wishes were fishes, we’d all swim in riches.” That was something he’d tell his wife whenever she started to mope. Not to mock, nor to chastise, but in his way to tell her pick it up and move on. The man was not one to linger in the past and all that couldn’t have been. Someone would call him a daring individual to simply live within the present, yet it was left on Maggie to think of the future. Jon was a wolf with her rabbit heart in its mouth the way he bit through her fears.<br/><br/>Now alone with this music box in hand there was wonder if she could be brave alone. Live in the moment with all of its pains, joys, and love. Gears twisted and turned plucking out the slowly dying tune. It was a hypnotizing sound that might soothe Maggie with dreams of the past.<br/><br/>The music was distracting as such that she barely notice the door to the room inch close, not until its knob clicked shut. With that darkness swallowed the room. Like the shadows that drowned her mind ever since Jon’s funeral. By the door with a hand set upon the knob a masculine figure stood. Wrapped in the obscuring shade gold flickered in the faint light of the window from the man’s eyes.<b> “It was a beautiful song. Perfect for what we felt…”</b>His voice was thick in its timber like Jon’s, how it consumed the silence with its reach.<br/><br/>The very moment Maggie would dare to move from the bed the man would hold out a hand as if commanding her to stay.  Those eyes were sharp and unearthly but for the American woman she would find something familiar deep within them.<b>“You shouldn’t cry love. The tears never suited you.” </b>He eased. What a charmer to always turn her pain into a moment to shower her with compliments. Jon was always sweet on her and as the figure stepped from the door into the bare sliver of light she found herself seeing the impossible. Gold eyes faded to the soft set hazel-blue that she knew. The one’s she’d fallen in love with, and the small smirk that always teased her rested upon his lips.<br/><br/><b> “I am sorry I hurt you…” </b>The Oooka spoke in double meaning wearing the face of her dead husband. Hair unkempt and short, Jon was a dark earthy brown. Those short locks he enjoyed Maggie running her fingers through. For her it had to be him and no other. The woman’s want for him was so urgent that the form was simple for the Faerie to take. Just as she remembered him, just like every photo that they had taken together.