"Is this real?"
She's golden light and tinkling bells breaking in the wind and the bittersweet taste of citrus.
There's nothing but golden wheat for miles and miles, but all he can see is this girl with her back facing him. She always wears this cute green hoodie and plain jeans. Her long hair, only curly at the ends, seems to be spun of the golden wheat stretching on forever.
This girl has to be a real person. There are too many details about her he can't see himself imagining on his own.
One of her shoulders rolls higher than the other. Her hair is flat on the top, thick at the bottom. She seems to walk with a determination he's not sure he ever has had. And some of her words lilt as though she's from somewhere south where it's warm all year long.
She never turns around but she's always there, just barely out of reach. She keeps on walking towards the sunset dropping down from a pale blue sky.
He reaches out to touch her shoulder and turn her around. To see her face. To remember. Because her laugh makes him feel at home and who can do that except for someone you know?
Without warning she disappears, simply blinking out of his view like something from a movie, but he's not surprised. He's gotten used to it, in fact.
"Am I supposed to know you?" he says out loud.
Instinctively he knows she is always listening, that she's always going to be there to answer him, even when he can't see her.
"I think I know you," he tells her.
He knows that whoever this girl is—even if she's merely a product of his imagination—she is someone he can talk to.
She laughs from behind him. Her laugh is musical and carefree. He thinks that she is someone meant to laugh and smile.
He turns around to face her but she's already walking away again. He trails behind her, keeping the distance he knows he can't cross before she'll disappear again.
"Yeah," she responds, finally.
Peter can hear the smile in her voice.
This is always his favorite part.
"Of course you know me. And I know you, Peter Petrelli."
She jumps a little and twirls, too fast for him to catch her face, her hair tangling with her features. But he gets the impression of a sad little smile.
Then the girl is off again, stroking the wheat tops as she passes them by.
"I wish you would just remember me, Peter. Then we can stop pretending."
"Who are you?"
The girl stops, her face downcast. She turns and he can almost see her.
Without realizing, Peter gets closer to her. He can make out her cheekbones and a splay of long, long lashes.
Just a little closer...
She turns around and faces him.
Too bright. Too much gold.
The sun burns his eyes. He covers his face with his hands, blinded. This part never happened before.
"You have to remember, Peter. Save the world," she murmurs. "It's destiny, right?"
"Destiny?" he asks her, the light still too bright for him to see. It seems like everything is bathed in golden-white light.
Then the light dies. And she is gone with it.
Peter Petrelli is left alone without his light.