Although Emme had never met him, his face appeared every night in her dreams. Sometimes the dreams were a series of fleeting images, barely remembered upon awakening, but often the visions were so vivid that Emme expected to find him peering over her when she opened her eyes.

Throughout all of them, the one constant was the clarity of his face. It was a countenance both alluring and enigmatic; with features so regal that he could only ever be valiant, and eyes so compelling that they could be nothing less than magical. Made eternal by thin strokes of glittering paint, his face was an artist’s rendering of a single moment of the beauty of youth; a moment that defied time, enduring everlastingly.

Emme could still remember the day when she first saw the painting, the day his face was forever emblazoned in her mind, inspiring her wildest imagination. She blamed her pitiful affliction on her friends, Stella and Jack, for they persuaded her to follow them on their journey as they trespassed into the past.

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