The years had been kind to you.

When was the last time he saw you? A century, perhaps more. Certainly more than three generations. Long enough, certainly, that he had begun to forget the depths of your laughter and the precise shade of the colour of your eyes. It was unfair, forgetting, but when one had all the time in the world, Oblivion was one's greatest enemy. Amar had learned that the hard way, grief mingling with the taste of longing.

But you were here, finally. Amar had missed you.