“Oh, come, oh, come, Emmanuel…and ransom captive Israel…who mourns in lonely exile here…”
My voice cracked and I couldn’t breathe. With my eyes shut against the hot tears, I didn’t realize my head was dropping until my forehead touched my knees. I couldn’t make a sound, but at least I could get a little air again, some nice, musky air in a nonexistent cave that I didn’t belong in. There was nothing fair about this.
“…until the Son of God appears…” gently called a small voice.
I pulled my head up. Across the room in another cell were a pair of eyes, very small eyes, and a pair of hands on the bars. Then there were another pair of hands on the bars and another pair of eyes. They were twins, a boy and a girl. They watched me as I forced myself carefully onto my stiff feet and took a deep breath.
A rough but melodious voice of an elderly man rose from a distant corner: “Emmanuel…”
“Shall come to thee…” came a sweet sound from a few cells down. A thin, pink-winged lady with dirty blond hair materialized from the shadows.
They stood at the edge of their cells, focusing on nothing but the song. Though barely capable of thinking from the immeasurable time they had spent in there, without sunlight or wind or river, they emerged from the darkness. Even in the deepest dungeons and the most reclusive recesses of the world, there was hope.
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