To The Boy of Daffodil Light

Prologue

He stands with elegance, calm confidence rippling off of him in waves.

In the light, his hair is a rich velvet brown, his lashes catching droplets of buttery gold. His features are bronze and bright, the sun a halo over his head. He cocks his head at the girl sitting on a swing under the sleeping willow tree, curiosity and wonderment brightening his eyes.

There is a lingering familiarity, a softness and tenderness that he feels for the girl whose name he cannot recall. He is certain he knows her name – it is just there, at the tip of his tongue – but his lips stutter every time they try to call out the first syllable of her name.

He doesn't mind, though. The memories, he is sure, will return in time. For now, he is content to merely watch.

He watches her as the swing sways gently in the breeze. The girl's dress billows slightly, her hair pushed back by the wind. There is a certain comfort that comes with her presence, sweet bliss in the shape of a girl. He admires the shine of her flyaway hair, the butterfly flight of her smile.

Around them sunlight weaves through the honeyed daffodils, the kind that smell of innocence and youth, fresh and clean and bright. They spread over the horizon like bursts of shooting stars, nodding silently in the breeze. The air tightens around the boy and the girl, like the universe is conspiring to bring them ever closer.

Their eyes meet. She raises an eyebrow. He offers a shy smile.

Flashes of memory across centuries pasted seamlessly onto the movement, flickering in the atmosphere like tiny electric sparks.

"Have we met before?" He asks. His voice rings out clearly, like windchimes on a windy afternoon. "You seem rather familiar."

Just as the girl opens her mouth to speak, the mirage shatters. The boy melts to shadow. The meadow withers to dust.

And just like that, the dream ends.

Far away, in a small town that was known for being favoured by the sun, Mirae's eyes flutter open.