Prologue.

Visible. Radiant, out of reach, beautiful.

As if a mirage had fabricated in front of me, I reach my hand out, yearning to touch the miracle that I know is not there.

My hand passes through, yet my mind has not yet conceived the fact that I have no chance. No hope.

Invisible. Unfocused, dull, ordinary.

While I focus my eyes on the visible, the invisible watch me, their eyes full of tears. Giving up, they float past me, and I sense nothing.

There is nothing.

Here and now, I am aware of someone's presence. As soon as the illusion disappears, a form approaches me. It needs to tell me something; to warn me, to bless me, to spite me.

Golden light shines behind it, a source unknown. A hidden sun.

I cannot look away, yet my eyes burn the closer the figure gets.

A hand, a touch, a choice reaches out and I hesitate.

How easy it would be to vainly search for the visible again, and how joyous it would be to find it and marvel at its slepndor.

Yet I grasp the hand and my world dissolves, like an icy body heating up as soon as the sunlight finds it and envelopes it in an embrace, like a long lost son, a forgotten friend, a summer love.