There was a story I read once, back when I used to read a lot of books, back when I had time to dream. Back when dreaming was a major part of my life; when I lived and breathed a dream. I was to be a sorceress's knight, better than any from a fairytale.

It wasn't my type of story, but it drew me in. It was a story about a foolish woman, a woman called Pandora. I don't remember much about it, just the end, but she was a woman made for a King. He gave her a box, and told her never to open it. She was to protect it, because he trusted her.

She was curious, and she was foolish, so she opened it. And out came all the bad things in the world today; Greed and Disease and Hatred and Anger and so on. But when she looked in the box, there was one thing left. Hope. So she closed the box to keep some hope for humankind.

I don't let myself dream any more; I remember what a mess dreams made of my life. Romantic dreams? Hah.

Despite trying to forget all those silly things, those stories and the dreams they inspired, I remember that one story and I can't help romanticising a little. The box Pandora opened was the book that first made me want to be a knight, and the nasty things that escaped then were all the bad things that came of it. But there was hope left, and I'm finding it now, as I meet his eyes, his steady gaze. Squall Leonhart noticed the hope left in the box Pandora opened and he used it to save me.

I pretend to myself that the butterflies in my stomach are Pandora's hope and I step toward him and I lift his chin and I meet his eyes again and I kiss him.