Chapter 5- Marie

Maries POV

Like any normal day, I walked through the fields, enjoying the soft whisper of the wind and the way the wildflowers swayed like dancers in the breeze. The sky stretched above me in endless blue, painted with gentle clouds that drifted lazily by. Birds chirped in the distance, their melodies weaving in and out of the rustling leaves. But today… today felt different.

I had the urge to walk a little further.

Why, you ask?

I didn't have any particular reason—I just did. Something tugged at me, like an invisible thread gently pulling me onward.

I walked beyond the usual paths, into the wide, open grasslands where the air smelled of sun-warmed earth and wild herbs.

"The sun is especially bright today." I thought, squinting up at the sky.

The grass shimmered under the golden rays, each blade catching the light and sparkling like dew-kissed emeralds. It was like something out of a fairytale—one of those places that only exist in dreams or long-forgotten stories.

Hours passed. Or maybe just minutes. Time felt unimportant as I wandered, caught in the beauty of the untouched land, my footsteps soft against the earth. I had no destination. No purpose. Just the need to keep going.

Then I saw someone.

Far ahead, standing perfectly still, was a figure. My heart skipped a beat.

I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman at first. Their form was slight, almost delicate, but something about the way they stood—calm, almost statuesque—pulled me in like a magnet.

I approached slowly, feeling an odd sensation in my chest, like I was being drawn toward them by something beyond understanding.

"Are you lost?" I called out, my voice unsure in the wide open space.

As I drew closer, I realized the figure was male. Probably. He had long and black, flowing hair that shimmered in the sunlight, and skin so pale it almost glowed. A robe clung to his body, thin and strangely patterned, like nothing I'd ever seen before—foreign, ancient, and elegant. His eyes caught mine, and for a moment I stopped breathing. They were golden. Not brown, not amber—gold.

He was barefoot. Other than the robe, he wore nothing. It should have looked odd or even alarming, but somehow, it didn't. It fit him, like he belonged here in this wild, open place.

"What are you doing out here on the grasslands?" I asked, my voice softer now, uncertain.

He didn't answer. He looked confused, disoriented, like someone waking from a dream they didn't remember falling into.

"You seem to be lost," I said again, not expecting a reply.

Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.

His voice was unlike anything I'd ever heard—low and melodic, like a song played on an instrument I didn't know the name of. It seemed to echo inside me.

He told me he didn't remember anything. Not who he was, not where he came from, not how he got there.

I felt sorry for him. Not in a pitying way, but deeply, genuinely sorry—like his confusion echoed something inside me, something I couldn't quite name.

I brought him back to the village.

The walk was quiet. We didn't speak much. I wasn't sure what to say, and he seemed content just to walk beside me, his eyes wide as he took in everything around us.

When we arrived, I gave him clothes that the village tailor had planned to discard. They were simple but clean—there was no demand for them anymore, and it felt right that they find a new life with someone who had none.

I showed him around. He looked at everything with wonder, like a child seeing the world for the first time. Every building, every person, every cart, every cat lounging on a windowsill—he looked at it all like it was magic. And in that moment, through his eyes, it was.

Evening came quickly. The sky turned lavender and soft pink, the village bathed in the warm light of sunset. I had to go home and help my mother prepare dinner.

I wanted to bring him with me. It wasn't love—I don't think it was—but there was a pull, something in me that wanted to be near him, to protect him. Still, I knew my parents wouldn't allow a stranger to stay with us. 

So I left him at the village's only inn. We rarely had visitors, so there was always space. I made sure he was settled, and then I left, though every step away from him felt heavier than the one before.

At home, I helped cook. We ate. We talked. I tried to focus, but I couldn't stop thinking about him.

"Is he doing alright?" I wondered.

"What if he has trouble at the inn?"

"I should've brought him home."

The thoughts haunted me through the night. I barely slept. I stared at the ceiling, tossing and turning, until the first light of dawn crept into the room.

Without thinking, I got up and dressed. I left before anyone else in the house stirred.

I walked straight to the inn, the chill of morning air biting at my skin. I told myself it was silly, waiting for someone who might not even remember me. But still, I stood there, watching the door, hoping.

Then it opened.

He stepped out, wearing the robe draped loosely over the clothes I'd given him. His golden eyes scanned the quiet street, and when they found me, he smiled. Just a little. But it was enough.

And then, out of nowhere, a thought struck me with sudden clarity.

His name.

I could've sworn I knew it.