And she looked at the glowing lights. Her lights. They weren’t just a plain, boring white, but such beautiful colors—reds, deeper and realer than she could have ever imagined! Purple, floating next to an orb of yellow. Giving life to this place. The water tasted beautifully sweet to her.

But it wasn’t real. The water didn’t sate her thirst. It was magical; an illusion. She would soon die of dehydration, even with this relief.

Yet—she became her role. And she sang.

The song was a duet. Meant for a Prince Charming. She did her best. Her voice went lower—and she touched her throat.

——

The guardian jumped as he heard a close approximation to a male voice coming from the young woman.

She was singing the duet, alternating between the two voices. But for all her mastery of her voice, it was incomplete. The song required two voices.

She sang alone, and he knew the part was meant for him. For no one else occupied this dead space. For a moment, the [Knight] longed to join in.

But he did not sing. He bowed his head, wishing he had done the beautiful song justice. He dreamed of starlight, as he had not for centuries. Her words had conjured the memory to his unliving soul and he would treasure them.

But he had a duty. So he lifted his sword and appeared.

——

She was singing both parts of the duet since there was no second singer. The water fell into her hands and she bent her head for another sip.

Then, suddenly, a figure stepped out of the air, shimmering like pale silver in the darkness. She could almost have imagined she’d conjured him, like the lights and water.

But he was different. The man stood there, his features pale, silver and half-transparent. His hair, slightly ruffled even in death, was short-cropped, and he was clean-shaven.

His armor was both ceremonial and practical, engraved with deep sigils along the plate armor’s breastplate but covering the knight from head to toe.

He held a two-handed sword that he planted in the ground. He was…misty. It looked as though he was dissolving even as she stopped and stared at him.

The song stopped. And with it, the light and water. It trickled from the gaps in her palm as she stared at him.

The figure made no move. He just stood there, looking at her gravely. His eyes—ah, his eyes seemed alive. They were intelligent, even sorrowful. But composed.

For a long moment the two stared at each other. Here was…a ghost. The Irish [Singer] hesitated. She waited.

But he said nothing. So she slowly sipped from her cupped hands. The fake, magical water trickled down her throat. She slurped.