She was somewhere else a moment ago- somewhere with harsh bright lights and blank white walls, with dancing squiggly lines and pinging alarms. And wires, and needles- needles slipping into her skin- and hazy...darkening...
Now she appears, materializing, seemingly, from the mist. Wide-eyed, she looks around at the trees, branches spread in menacing grace, at the shadows, at the lacy threads that adorn the forest.
She cannot remember its name. But she knows- this is where he lives. This is where her beloved- what was his name? Leaf? she does not remember, she only knows, inexplicably, inevitably, that she loves him- lives.
There is only silence. The air is cool where it brushes her skin. And there is a faded path laid before her feet.
She follows it.
Perhaps the path will lead her to him, and then she might remember.
Soon she comes to the river. It flows languidly, a mirror of midnight sapphire. She gazes into the water and admires herself. Her hair is a corona of sunshine, her eyes are glimmering gray sea-pearls, her lips rich ruby rose-petals. She glows against a backdrop of deep night.
She feels thirsty, and kneels before the river, cupping a measure of water in her hands and sipping it from her palms. At once vibrant visions assault her eyes, and she swoons, falling backwards into deep slumber.
She dreams of him, of dancing with him beneath the starlight. She wears a swirling gown of soft silk. The trees and the glow of torchlight surround them. The shadows do not flee, they only withdraw a bit, and watch the merriment from a distance.
When she awakes, she finds herself still arrayed in silk. But it is no ball gown that she wears, it is a burial shroud, spun of spider-silk.
She senses death approaching her, creeping on many legs through its web.
"Save me, Legolas," she whispers, in a last moment of lucidity.
No elven arrows fly.
Her veins are drained dry.
And somewhere in another world, a dancing line stills.