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She dreamt of him even centuries later.
Some days, she could barely fathom his face, while others, she would see his every detail as if she saw him just a short minute ago.
But no matter what, the moment she closed her eyes, she’d see him there, in the field – their field – waiting for her, one warm, solid hand already extended in invitation.
Every time, as if pulled by a magnet, she couldn’t help but grasp his palm tightly, afraid he’d fade the second she let go.
Some days, she couldn’t remember his name, while others, she would recall it far better than even her own.
But no matter what, each and every time, he would pull her close, warm her in his embrace and spin her in a slow dance.
Across their field, he would sweep her away, along with all her sorrow and pain.
She knew he had been gone for so very long but she never wanted to leave for she also knew that he had been the one who she had lost and who she had found and the one who had loved her the most.
She always let her head rest against his shoulder, head tucked comfortably into the crook of his neck as they waltzed.
Sometimes, she thinks she can even still smell the scent of him – a rich and distinctive mix of the cologne she had gotten him and something that was just so naturally him and reminded her of a home long since lost to her – before a soft breeze or cold wind carried it off into distances far from her reach.
Some days, his fleeting voice – warm and calm and filled with boyish mirth – is there, a gentle caress as it echoes in her ears, full of both, sweet nothings and everything she ever wanted to hear.
Amongst all the memories which came and went like guests to a party, it was always his smile, however, bright and broad and shining like a beacon in the dark, that would keep her company throughout it all.
A reminder, she supposed, of what once was and would have been again.
If only she had spoken up that day.
If only she hadn’t watched him turn and walk away, leave her behind, as her heart and mind warred with each other.
But she hadn’t, and so it was a ghost she danced with through the day and into the night and through the sun and the snow that swept over the field, from summer to winter to summer again, till the stars and sky crumbled and fell around them.
And centuries later, the pain still remained.
So high in the fields of the hero who is gone, Kara would dance with her ghost: the one she had lost and the one she had found and the one who had loved her the most.
The one who had been gone for so very long, she couldn’t remember his name. He spun her around on the damp old grass, spun away her sorrow and pain.
And she never wanted to leave the one who had loved her the most.
And she never wanted to leave...