Word Count: 508

“Bonsoir, ma petite chérie.”

She had not seen his face in over three years, and yet—inexplicably, it seemed—he took to haunting her dreams. His features were distorted, blurred and hazy around the edges, for in three years the fine details had managed to escape her memory. But his grin was unmistakably predatory and recognizable in that aspect alone. The hand that rested against her chest felt heavy with intent.

She'd never known his name. Elysion had made the exchange of pleasantries quite difficult. Between a blood strewn field, the oppressive heat of a volcano, and the bitter cold of frozen glaciers, it was the faces and voices that stuck with her. Though his had faded somewhat beneath the happier memories that followed after him, she knew that she would never forget the gleam in his eyes, or the low, falsely soothing timbre of his voice.

From her back she stared up at him, frozen in place by horror.

Darkness surrounded them. She could hear the sounds of battle, smell the strong tang of blood on the air, yet she could see nothing but his form above her. Threateningly he loomed, this Captain who by all rights should not have been able to overcome her Eternal magic. But then she did not feel strong with his hand on her chest. A part of her never had; she wondered if she ever would.

Suddenly his image shifted and the hazy features of his face sharpened, came into focus, but the hair and eyes were no longer what she remembered from Elysion. The figure before her now seemed more solid, more present, her proximity more of a danger and her threats far more recent.

“What's wrong with you, girly?”

The hand that previously came to rest on her chest slowly sunk in, as grasping fingers reached through and wrapped around her starseed. She remained frozen as the wings that crumpled beneath her back gave way and disappeared from view. Her power drained away. In the place of an experience Senshi was nothing more than a frightened girl, powerless in the face of evil.

What defense did she have against it? What could she do but exert herself in a struggle that may well be futile? Was this how it would end for all of them, a hand in their chests, gripping the roots of their souls—the very essence of who they were—and ripping it from them in a violent act that could only result in their deaths?

If she had the choice, she'd choose the sword over the destruction of her soul.

The golden light that surrounded her then was warm and comforting. It obliterated the figure above her and brightened the darkness until there was nothing left but glorious white. She floated among it while a gentle breeze caressed her face, and the voices whispered as they always did from the depths of time.

“Ganymede... Ganymede... Ganymede...”

They wrapped around her protectively and drew her forth into wakefulness, into a world still stubbornly clinging to hope and light.