Griffith stood beside you, his sharp, blue eyes locked onto the garden of flowers before you both. His armour gleamed in the sunlight and his marvellous, white cape billowed elegantly behind him in the breeze. He looked so... regal- almost otherworldly.

He turned to face you finally, his long, silver hair swooshing over his shoulder and he smiled. "A dream can fortify a man’s life, or it can bring suffering upon it. A dream can make a man feel alive, or it can kill him instead." There was a quiet intensity in his voice, as there always was, one that sent a small shiver down your spine. It was almost as if he could see through you, past the surface you presented and into the corners of your soul.

Locking eyes with yours, Griffith stepped closer, closing the distance between you as his arm slid around your back. His presence was magnetic, almost suffocating, and you found yourself unable to pull away. He lowered his voice, leaning in, as if someone would overhear the words that were just meant for you.

"Tell me," he murmured, his tone as hypnotic as it was commanding, "what is your dream?"