Unearthly music part 2

She approaches the door, reaching for the doorknob as if in a dream. She’s tense with anxiety, anticipation as she gently eases the door open…
She freezes.
Gazes into the stone cellar.
A dry sob escapes her lips.
He’s there, laying on the cold floor, his back pressed against the wall.
He doesn't look like him. Hardly recognizable for the bruises and cuts, the welts, the pale skin, the starved, hollow face.
It hurts her. Hurts her like a physical wound, tears at her heart and leaves her breathless. What have they done to him? What have they done? They have taken his strong, beautiful self and reduced it to nothing-nothing but bones and bruises.
She stumbles forward, numb, unfeeling, and drops down next to him.
His eyes flutter as she approaches and he tenses, recoiles, presses into the wall to escape from her.
Until he sees her face. His eyes come into focus. He recognizes her.
He reaches out a heavy arm, brushing his fingers against her cheek and she grabs hold of his hand, holding in a gentle grip. He is cold.
She brushes his hair out of his eyes. She needs to see his eyes.
They are cold in a different way, distant and glazed from pain.
This truly breaks her heart open.
A real, awful, merciless anguish opens her mouth, drawing forth music from her lips, from the deepest part of her.
The song vibrates the air, it is gentle, yet incredibly powerful. Soft, yet deafening. She sings and sings and sings, letting her unearthly music wash over him like water, wash over him like a real substance.
She brushes her hands along his arms, face, neck, chest, all the places with wounds, all the places with pain.
She sings of peace. Of comfort. Of health. She sings of clean skin, unblemished, pure and untouched by tools, unmarked by weapons. Strength. Wholeness.
Hope. She lets the melody wind around him and as she does, she begins to feel the physical effects. She feels the blows, the cuts, the energy draining from her body as she speaks her health into him.
And as she sings he begins to stir, his eyes flutter open, he is aroused from his dying state.
The agony is unbearable for her, she shakes from the effort, she can hardly concentrate, but she isn’t finished. She is so close, too close to stop now.
Courage. Musical courage, flowing through his veins.
And then it becomes too much. She falls limp, the exhaustion, the wounds to much to bear.
He catches her in his arms. His skin is clean. Unblemished.
And his eyes. Those eyes. They're wet with tears, but they’re alive.
She smiles.