He always watched from afar as she walked toward the cliff, oblivious to danger as she softly played her flute in the warm summer breeze. Her dress was the color of hyacinths, and a crown of flowers adorned her chestnut hair. As he tried to warn her, the words tangled in his brain, for he was but a beast and could not speak. Finally, he began to run, but it was too late. He was always too late.
He woke in the dark, hours before dawn, as reality spiraled in once again. It had been three years. When would he stop dreaming about trying to save her?