Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes.
Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears.
What is it else?
A madness most discreet,
a choking gall and a preserving sweet.

-William Shakespeare

¤

The air around him was foggy as a mist of gray shrouded his vision. His skin prickled as wistful touches of ghostly fingers wrapped itself around his body, leaving behind an emotion of forgotten longing on his sleeve.

Where am I? he finds himself whispering; the words echoing off empty walls.

As if answering his unheard question, an abrupt burst of cold air wraps around his rigid form. It tugs at him, urging him towards an unforeseen objective with blind determination; telling him that this was the path he should be taking.

But before he could oppose the depthless void that insisted him forward, a voice, one that is full of a dominant grace, ripples through the heavy air.

Come.

With that single worded command, he had no choice but to set aside his resolve and obey; he wasn't given a choice, it was a demand.

Shadowed by the fog, a figure is silhouetted before him. Wind chimes resound around them as white noise accompanies the melodious tune in an unusual duet.

Finding that his breath came in short gasps, he realizes that he no longer felt in control of his body. It was as if his mind was detached; a floating balloon that was distancing itself from reality. And although the outline of the shadow was vague, he could feel the magnificence which radiated through the dense space that expanded between them.

And that was plenty for him to deem that, ah, is this what I am looking for?

Trapped and mesmerized, he was bound by the classic beauty that stood before him; the ethereal presence sending a shiver coursing through his spine.

Nostalgia; that simple feeling of remembrance left his mind in a disorderly state of perplexed yearning.

-prologue.fin.