Prospero stands alone, one hand clenched around her staff, the other raised slightly as if to feel the energy of the air around her. Her eyes scan the horizon, where Miranda and Ferdinand are talking, carefree. Her brow furrows slightly as concern crosses her face.

"I watch them, these young beating hearts. So innocent... so vulnerable. Was I right to bind them so soon? Was I too cunning, like my brother once?"

She slowly lowers her hand, her gaze hardening for a moment as she thinks of Antonio, her traitorous brother. But almost immediately, her expression softens at the thought of Miranda. She sits on a moss-covered rock, her shoulders slumped slightly, her staff at her side.