He ran like a madman, eyes burning with a deep, desperate yearning.
All the pain he had suffered before his regression, every scar, every torment, was gone from his gaze.
There was no hatred, no anger; only that raw, aching longing remained, pushing him forward.
He ran as if by reaching her, he might finally soothe the emptiness gnawing at his heart.
The corridor blurred past him until he reached her door. His breath came ragged, excitement and fear twisting inside him.
What if this was all an illusion? What if, the moment he reached out, everything vanished again?
He feared not just disappointment, but annihilation. If this dream shattered, not even his soul might remain to bear the grief.
But the hesitation didn't last.
He raised his hand to knock, yet before his fingers could touch the door, it burst open.
A figure stood there.
Charlotte.
But she was not the same.
