I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
I'm not the only Sarah Williams in this world. She, too, died young. But, I get ahead of myself.
I often wondered these past years if you were real. Did I suffer some grand illusion? Dream? Hallucination? My friends from your labyrinth came to visit me a few scant times after I won Toby back. By the time I turned 17 they no longer came when I called. I questioned my sanity, but I suppose that's never a wise thing to do.
I dated on and off in my late teens but never had any lasting relationships. By the time my illness made itself known I hadn't the desire to try. I slipped into a depression and pushed the few friends I had away. My father thought I was giving up on life. I wasn't. I wished for another life. I wished for my real friends back. I wished for you.
I tried calling, but I had forgotten your name. Hoggle said it once, I think. I wondered if that was the secret to gaining your attention. It wasn't until years later that I realized what you had offered. What you had asked of me. I was too young, then. Too naïve and sheltered. I may have been on the cusp of womanhood but I was still a child. The world hadn't broken my fantasies and dreams yet.
In these last moments I want you to know that I've dreamt of you. I wonder if she had dreams like I. Did you know of her? She was a poet, much like myself. But, her words are more eloquent than mine.
Well then, kiss me, — since my mother left her blessing on my brow,
There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;
I can dimly comprehend it, — that I might have been more kind,
Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.
AN: A little idea I had based on the poem "The Old Astronomer to His Pupil" written by Sarah Williams. Excerpts from the poem are italic.