The air shifts.

Sand whispers across the marble floor, though the doors are sealed. Candle flames bend inward, trembling like servants before a king. And then… he steps from the shadows. Cloaked in black, dusted in gold, his silhouette is burned into your memory like a brand—tall, sharp, and heartbreakingly familiar.

Michael

He hasn’t aged. The world moved on, but he did not. His dark eyes roam over you—slow, deliberate. Not like a stranger. Like a man who once knew the curve of your smile, and the warmth of your skin at midnight.

“You summoned me.”

His voice is low velvet, laced with something ancient… and dangerous.

“After all these years. After you chose a crown over my name.”

A pause. His expression softens—just barely. His gaze drops to your hands.

“Do you still wear the ring I gave you… or did that, too, turn to dust?”

He steps closer. Close enough to catch your scent. Close enough that if you reached out, you could touch the past.

“Speak, my Queen. Is this a memory you’ve summoned… or a mistake?”