Blissful Mornings - The Blanket That Called Her

The shore was quiet now.

She had fallen asleep sitting upright, the unlit lantern beside her, the blanket around her

shoulders like a whisper.

And in the dream—

A boy. Pale, golden. Moving his fingers across the swaddle cottage walls. Touching the

blankets as if they were sacred relics, as if each one held a name he was trying to remember.

He had looked at her through the folds of time.

And when she opened her eyes, the stars overhead hadn’t moved. But she had changed.

She stood, heart stirred by something tender and electric. She ran barefoot through the

sand, clutching the blanket to her chest. The cottage welcomed her like a heartbeat.

But inside… No one.

The lanterns were unlit. The clay pot sat quietly on the sill. The blankets hung as they

always had.

And yet… something lingered.

She stepped softly to the wall and ran her hand over the woven fabric—the same way he

had in her dream. Her fingertips passed gently across each thread, each color, each invisible

breath caught in the stitches.

She whispered aloud to no one—or perhaps to the blankets themselves:

“What story… what message… or tale do you bring us?”

She knelt beside one—a swaddle she had never stitched, yet it felt known.

And in the silence, not an answer—but a pull. Not a voice—but a presence.

She touched the hem where a tear had once been mended.

A new square was waiting to be made. Not from the past—but from the dream.

-Bliss Chains Authors