Chapter Text
There was a pulse to the Garland Moon in Idlerun. The energy was palpable as the villagers floated around the square, decorating storefronts in blooms of pink peonies and boxes filled with violets. Children danced around maypoles as fiddlers filled the streets with music and life. Even a daily walk was something of a performance. It was a quaint town that she had found herself in, and she was quite thankful for it.
The students had come together to weave a flower crown just for her this year. As a teacher, she often found her days were too filled with lesson plans and too many questions to do very much of anything else. She only left the school for those daily walks and the occasional errand, leaving very little time to make any friends of her own. It would maybe make her sad if she wasn’t so busy. So when she walked into the classroom that morning to find a perfectly imperfect crown sitting on her desk, her heart swelled with pride.
As she entered her small dormitory on the third floor of the building, she thought that friendships really didn’t matter when her students were sweet enough to offer gifts of their own. She smiled as she placed the crown of forget-me-nots on her windowsill.
The irony was lovely.
You see, she really was quite forgettable - as was demonstrated by the fact that she didn’t have a single memory of herself. Sure, she remembered important things: like how to breathe and eat and walk. She even remembered less important things: like magic and how to sew and the entire history of Fódlan. But anything in between - like where she grew up or her favorite tea or even her name - those facts were all blurred and maddeningly unreachable.
“Miss Fantine?”
When she first stumbled into the schoolyard at Idlerun Orphanage - dirty and hungry and robbed of any memories - her name had just been “Miss”. The Headmistress, a sharp but sweet-looking woman named Melanie, had insisted the children call her something while she waited to regain her own name. Unfortunately, after weeks of no improvement, it became obvious that a name was never going to resurface. So instead, she decided on Fantine: the name of the Princess in the first storybook she read to the children. It sounded familiar enough. And the Princess had long, red hair like hers and loved raspberry tarts just as much as she did - so it fit as well as any other name.
“Yes Yvonne,” Fantine said sweetly.
A child around ten stood in the doorway of her room, her hands clasped politely behind her back and the energy of a secret nearly bursting from her. “Miss Melanie is looking for you. She says to come down when you’ve finished.”
“Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Yvonne nodded eagerly and dashed off down the hallway to deliver her message.
Fantine was rather good at teaching. She often wondered if she had been a teacher in her old life. It came so naturally that anything other than that would surprise her. But she was also in incredibly good shape for a school teacher. And unless she was some sort of combat trainer (which didn’t feel right, either) she had no explanation for her toned arms and surprising aptitude for cutting firewood.
Maybe she had been a farmer. She did love the flowers and thought that running a shop in town might be fun. The stamina tilling fields required would explain her physique, but she tripped and ran into things just a little too much to think working in nature would come easily. She thought that, as she walked down to Melanie’s office on the first floor of the school, she would maybe ask to plant a little garden out back for the children. Then she could see if she had any talent for it.
“Hello, Miss Melanie,” Fantine sang sweetly as she entered the large office off of the foyer. It was a very grand and beautiful room, despite the worn wood and aged curtains. She often wondered how much more imposing Melanie would look sitting in the room in its prime.
The Headmistress rolled her eyes from her desk, biting back her usual scolding for such formalities. “Fantine,” she greeted.
Miss Melanie (or Melanie, as she demanded Fantine call her) was an older woman. She would be middle-aged, she thought, although Fantine was kind enough not to speculate too much on her age. However, the glimmer of early silver in her hair and the lines that time and good laughs had etched across her face were enough to know she was much more mature than Fantine.
“Yvonne told me that you just got back from a walk,” Melanie said. “Was it far?”
“No.” Fantine fell back into one of the large, wingback chairs and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Just a mile or so outside of town. The view from the hill to the south is quite lovely.”
Melanie merely nodded, humming her agreement and sliding her quill into the brass stand on her desk.
“Maybe one day next week we can take the children there for a picnic lunch,” Fantine suggested. “The classes we hold outdoors always seem to go so well. Don’t you think?”
“I do,” Melanie agreed. “And it doesn’t hurt that there are plenty of flowers around to gawk at I suppose?”
When Fantine glanced at her friend she bit back a smile. The Headmistress was, in fact, very good at her job because she was very good at observing people. And she supposed that she didn’t make it very hard when she was constantly sighing her happiness in the gardens and talking Melanie’s ear off about the different kinds of flowers she found in town.
“Oh, hush,” Fantine said, rolling her eyes. “Sure, maybe the idea is a little self-serving, but it’s still a good idea.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
Just over Melanie’s shoulder, Fantine could see the kids playing in the yard through the open window. Cries of laughter echoed in the breeze, bringing with it the warm feeling she always got when she thought about her job. How lucky she was to be abandoned by the Goddess in a place where her students were in similar predicaments. There was some comfort, she thought, in a teacher being able to understand the pupil on that fundamental level.
“Well, I really hate to ask after I so vehemently teased you.” Melanie stood gracefully, ever the picture of poise and elegance that Fantine wanted so badly to emulate. Instead, she sunk further into her own bad posture. “But it seems we’re out of flour. We must have run out after breakfast this morning and I didn’t think to look until now.”
“If you need me to run and grab some, I certainly will,” she said brightly.
“If you don’t mind, that is.”
Fantine grinned at her. “Of course not, Melanie! You know I love to help.”
The Headmistress gave a fond sigh. “I do,” she agreed. “And you know I hate asking.”
Fantine really would take any excuse to get out of the house on a nice afternoon. Morning classes tended to be left to her, while Miss Melanie focused on her own subjects in the afternoon. It was a rhythm that worked well for them and provided both with the opportunity to have time to themselves - for Melanie to work on running the school, and for Fantine to wander around aimlessly and do odd jobs where she could. True, it made her feel a little unavailing by comparison, but she did her best.
Now, Fantine strolled lazily through the market stalls she had missed on her earlier walk, hesitating by the jewelry cart to sample the fineries she would never be able to afford herself. She absently spun the old ring on her index finger as she caught snatches of conversation from excited sellers.
A mystery man, it seemed, had ridden in on horseback earlier that morning to visit a nearby lord.
“He was so handsome!” one of the younger ladies squealed.
“I heard he knows the King,” another sighed.
A fond smile twitched at the corner of Fantine’s lips. How exciting it must be to know a King, and their current one at that. Stories of King Dimitri cast a reverent glow over the southwest territories. Many of the villagers had been refugees from Duscur and had recently turned their appreciation toward their King after word got around that he was dissolving Kleiman’s claim to the lands and returning it to their people.
“You saw him in town earlier, didn’t you?” one of the women continued.
“He was quite brooding,” the other agreed. “Very fierce and determined, like he was on a mission.”
“Maybe he’s on a mission for the King!” the other squealed. “Searching the town for some kind of…thief. Or trying to stop an assassination plot!”
The girl’s partner took the thread and ran with it. “Ooo, who do you think it could be? I saw Matthew sneaking around the pub the other night listening to the guards by the stables.”
“Oh, he could definitely be listening for information. Definitely a spy.”
Their gossip sure did make for a lovely story, no matter how fanciful it sounded.
With a small sac of flour in her basket and an order for more to be delivered to the school later that evening, Fantine lulled along the cobblestone streets toward home. Daylight was beginning to fade below the horizon, gesturing in the sounds of crickets and croaking frogs that would soon overpower the nighttime stillness. She turned around the final market stall, the fading light glinting against a very pretty hairpin. It caught her attention enough that her gaze lingered on it just a little too long; until she heard a gasp in the distance and one of the women sigh, “Isn’t that him?” and -
Fantine thought she heard the lilt of the other woman’s response when she turned, headfirst into the person in front of her. She instinctively bucked back, hoping to keep the contact to a minimum but overcompensating and tilting a little too far in the opposite direction. Her free arm flailed desperately as she yelped, hoping her hand found something to catch herself on.
An arm snapped toward her before she had time to think - before she had time to flinch away again. But when a hand wrapped around her wrist it steadied her momentum just enough to correct herself - to let out a nervous little laugh as her feet settled back on the cobblestones beneath her.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she tried, easing her arm from his grip and tucking a rogue piece of hair back behind her ear. “I wasn’t paying attention, you just - you scared me.”
And scary he was.
The man that stood before her wasn’t the tallest man Fantine had ever seen, but he carried himself in a way that made him seem large and looming. He wore thick, luxurious clothes - a deep teal cloak with purple embroidery, a soft, fur collar, leather boots that, while worn, looked very expensive. It registered then that this was the man the girls had been gossiping about - the friend of the King there on a secret and important mission. Fantine thought that, if she were a thief or an assassin, she certainly wouldn’t want to face him as her executioner. He was strong and silent, his gaze desperately searching: the perfect man for the job. He seemed the kind of man that, as exemplified by his catching her, reacted swiftly and was immune to trivial emotions like fear or shock -
Until his legs seemed to give out beneath him.
The man fell to his knees before her, his brow furrowed in a painful expression that she couldn’t quite place. Instinctively, she reached out to…what? Catch him? (He was twice her size and he looked very heavy) But her arm flailed blindly between them anyway. For a brief and irrational moment, Fantine wondered if he had been shot in the back with an arrow. If, maybe, the fictional assassin had gotten to him.
“Are you okay-”
“Annette.” His voice wavered in question, like someone who had seen a ghost and was not quite convinced his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
Oh.
That had been her name, hadn’t it? It sounded right as soon as it hit her ears. Annette. Annie, sometimes, right? Not often but someone called her that. And the man before her, dark and frantic and still very scary - he knew her. Sure, she didn’t recognize him, but the way he was looking at her spoke volumes. It almost hurt that she couldn’t offer him the same recognition. Instead, she searched his features for something, anything that would trigger a memory.
Nothing.
Gently, she reached down. Maybe she couldn’t offer him the recognition he seemed to want from her, but she could offer him a hand up. He looked at it for a little too long, but he accepted the help, teetering back to solid ground with her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice small. “Do I…do I know you?”
If a look could wound someone she would have been sure she had been slain. The man flinched so slightly it could have been tossed aside as a very strange blink. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he let go of her hand like it burned him. That had been the wrong thing to say, clearly, but it had been the truth. Her truth. She tried to explain that to him, but before she was able to, a nervous-looking man ran up behind him. His face flushed as he gasped for air.
“Your Grace, I-” He stumbled up beside them, meeting her gaze briefly, indifferently, but when he looked away it snapped back to her in the same disbelieving awe of his companion. His voice trailed off, floating into the still silence that seemed to cast over her. She waited for a reaction, anything similar to the other man’s, but he just froze.
It occurred to her then that this man had uttered a title - a very large and scary title that matched the very large and scary man before her. She hadn’t been expecting such a title from anyone near Idlerun, let alone someone as…dirty as him. The mysterious stranger wasn’t just a knight in shining armor, he was Nobility .
“Y-your Grace? Did he just say-” Fantine - no, Annette - fell into a low curtsy, ducking her head a little longer than she needed to hide the warmth on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, You’re Grace.”
The man cringed. “That…that’s really not necessary.”
“I didn’t know…I mean, I don’t know a lot, obviously. You seem to know more than I do… what I mean is….” None of this was making sense and she knew it. “What I mean to say is I-I apologize for my etiquette and, um, well not recognizing you. Clearly, that was not what you expected so…I’m sorry. I - well it’s kind of…” she huffed, unsure of how to proceed, clenching her fist at her side. You’d think, in the months that she had been wandering with the blank slate of her past, she would have prepared for this kind of possibility.
“Annette,” the man repeated. And he said it so sweetly, so sadly , she thought she felt an aching flutter in her chest. “What’s going on?”
Annette filled her lungs with a shaky breath. Was she often this flustered in her past life? If this man truly knew her - nobility for Sothis sake! - was he used to this kind of bumbling? With only the students and Miss Melanie for company, she supposed she didn’t have a very good sample size to know if that could be the case. Maybe men made her nervous. Maybe powerful men made her nervous.
This one certainly did.
“Annette,” she parroted, staring blankly over his shoulder. “That’s my name, isn’t it?”
He only blinked at her, eyes squinting from the setting sun or his own skepticism.
“And you know me?”
The attendant finally seemed to find his words. “Know you?” he scoffed. “You’re -” But the Duke held up his hand, silencing him quickly.
“I do,” he admitted.
She nodded, looking out over the town square where a hefty crowd was beginning to eye the spectacle. The Duke followed her gaze, glowering at two of the girls who had been gossiping about him just moments ago. They gasped, turning their backs and pretending to look busy with their work.
It occurred to Annette that this was probably an important conversation: one that might not be good for either party to have in the middle of the town square during a festival week. It also occurred to her that this man was a nobility after all (even if he might not look it) and she remembered enough about the finer points of courtesy to know that she was already royally blowing it.
What she should have done was not talk to him in the first place. But since that was out of the question she should have at least offered him to come for tea. Even if he hadn’t possibly been holding pieces of the puzzle that was her past, it wouldn’t do for a girl of her status to so rudely walk away from such important people.
Melanie would kill her.
“Would you and your friend here care for some tea?” Annette asked, shifting her focus back to the man’s too-sad, amber eyes for as long as she could stomach. “I think that might be helpful.”
He nodded, slowly and unsure, momentarily focused on her eyes in a spellbinding gaze that broke too quickly. Satisfied, she nodded too, turning on her heel and letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in an audible puff.
The two men followed Annette through the maze of side streets until the buzz of excited children began permitting through the air once again. The orphanage had once been set slightly apart from the rest of the town. That is until the village grew around it and it became just like any other building. It did mean, however, that the route there was not a succinct one. Rather, it was one that took many twists and turns down residential streets with nosey neighbors peeking through their windows.
“I-I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Annette said as they turned the corner to the orphanage row. “My memory is…well it’s not so great, right now. So I’m afraid I don’t actually know your name.”
“Duke Fraldarius, my lady,” the attendant answered quickly. He was still eying her, each word filled with an (admittedly) well-placed skepticism.
Fraldarius was a Kingdom name. An important Kingdom name at that. The Fraldarius family was the right-hand to the throne. They were descendants of one of the ten elites: a family of warriors that were bred to protect the crown and, if rumors were to be believed, came out of the womb basically ready for combat.
Now that all of Fódlan was united under King Dimitri, Duke Fraldarius was the second most powerful man in the entire continent. She had heard rumors of the aftermath of the war - the higher nobility wanting to ease the burden of its hierarchy - but as it had only been a few years since the peace treaty had been signed, she couldn’t imagine they’d made much leeway yet.
Maybe the two girls at the market weren’t that far off. If she was the person he had been searching for, who’s to say she wasn’t some kind of spy in her past life that would be prone to poison him at any second? That didn’t really feel like her, but how was she to know? Maybe she was such a good agent that even she didn’t know it.
The sun peaked just below the top of the school, hiding behind the deep, sandstone bricks and bathing them in the warm light of late afternoon. The children were outside again, having most likely finished their lesson with Melanie, and offered the rest of the day to play in the yard out back. Their laughter carried on the breeze, sifting through the leaves of the tree-lined path.
Annette tried to keep her posture straight as she ascended to the front door, painfully aware that both men were most likely glaring holes into the back of her head as she did so. This would not have been a very good time to trip, but, knowing her, she would have to focus very hard to ensure that she didn’t.
Duke Fraldarius hesitated at the steps, staring up at the sign carved above the door. “An orphanage?”
“It’s more of a boarding school, really,” Annette corrected. She placed her hand lightly on the door handle, hesitating as she tried her very best to smile at her guests. “Most of the children don’t have families to go back to, but we keep our doors open for any of the children in town that wish to learn. They’re letting me stay here while I…” She paused, pressing the door handle into her palm to steady herself. Then, attempting another smile, she said, “How about that tea? It’s a really…complicated story.”
In truth, there wasn’t much of a story at all.
Annette was particularly glad that she had cleaned the first floor that morning. She had never put it off before, but she was especially glad for her predictable schedule now. It might not be fit for such high-ranking nobility but it was clean and that was the best they could offer.
The two waited in the salon while she hurried to the kitchen to make tea. She piled their finest china onto their best serving dish and nearly tripped on her way out, but she caught herself with her back leg and a deep breath before taking deliberate steps back into the hallway toward the foyer. There, Duke Fraldarius was sitting on the faded couch and looking blankly into the middle distance. His leg was tapping violently underneath him, his fingers fidgeting in his lap.
“Sorry to keep you,” Annette smiled, placing the tray on the table between them.
The Duke offered no response in kind. He simply cleared his throat into his gloved hand and sat further upright. She poured the tea - a blend of sweet apples she had saved for the most special of occasions - and gestured for him to take a cup.
“So, uh…how long have you been here?” he asked politely, scanning the room around them.
“About a year, I think,” Annette said. She offered a cup to the attendant but he shook his head, choosing to stand watch by the door. His gaze lingered too long, and when she blushed down into her tea she could feel the Duke watching her, noticing.
“Huh,” Duke Fraldarius lifted the tea to his lips, cringing slightly as he swallowed. “So, um. What happened?”
“I guess I’m not really sure,” Annette admitted. “Not that I wanted to drag you all the way out here on false pretenses, it just seemed…a better place to talk.” She took a long sip of tea before she continued. “No one really knows where I came from. I just kind of…showed up here. The first thing I can seem to remember is being led up the steps of the orphanage by some of the children. Yvonne - one of the girls in my class - says that she and another student found me wandering aimlessly around the square.” Annette reached for one of the biscuits, bringing it to her mouth before thinking better of it and placing her hand back in her lap. “It took a few days for me to come to. But one morning I woke as alert as ever just…no memories.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nothing at all,” she agreed.
Duke Fraldarius nodded, suddenly unable to make any eye contact. It seemed to happen in spurts: one minute he was staring deep into her eyes for a little too long, the next he would try, it seemed, and give up halfway. Annette tried very hard not to take it personally, but she felt a pang in her stomach just the same.
“The kids called me Fantine,” she went on, desperate to fill the silence. “It, um…is from one of the story books I read to them early on. It sounded familiar enough, and they said that the Princess in the illustrations looked ‘just like me’.” When he cocked an eyebrow at her, Annette motioned up toward her braid. “She had red hair,” she explained.
“Ah,” he conceded.
A terrible thought racked her at his lack of outright laughter at that possibility. “Wait, I’m not…I’m not some sort of Princess, right?”
Duke Fraldarius chuckled - well, it was less ‘laughter’ and more that he let out a breath through his nose while he smiled. And while it seemed out of place on his rough, stern features, it also felt incredibly warm. “No.” He looked down, attempting to make eye contact again but falling short at the teacup in her hands “Your, uh, middle name is Fantine, though.”
A middle name!
She woke up this morning with no name at all and now she had two . It was only then that the reality seemed to set in - urged on by her teetering decorum. For a moment she forgot herself, losing her thoughts to all of the questions she had stayed up late wondering. What was her last name? Her favorite color? Did she teach before she came here? Did she grow up in the Kingdom as he did - was that how they knew each other? Did the old version of her like raspberry tarts as much as she did?
Her mind, whirring and dizzy, settled on the vaguest question possible: “So you know me pretty well, then?”
“Yes.”
There would be time, she assumed, for answers to those questions. For now, her focus should entirely remain on not embarrassing herself any more than she already had.
“Wow.” She beamed at him, forgetting her posture just enough to fall back into the couch cushions. “I’m friends with a Duke ? That’s so cool! And…scary.”
“Friends.” Annette wondered if his voice always sounded this sad or if she was specifically saying all of the wrong things. It seemed, knowing what she did about herself, that the latter was a very real possibility. The Duke blinked himself back to her and asked, “Why scary?”
“You know, because you’re nobility!”
“Not really ,” he argued.
When the attendant cleared his throat Annette could have sworn the fright lifted her from her seat as she gasped. She had forgotten he was there. “If I may, Your Grace,” he said. “The lady is correct. It would do you good to remember that.”
“Yes, thank you, Arthur,” Duke Fraldarius said in a way that made it seem like he was not, in fact, thankful.
When he turned back to her, Annette realized that a little bit of warm, approachability had wormed its way into them since she sat down. She noticed this, of course, because when he settled back into his seat after scolding his attendant, it had completely vanished. Partially because it was more comfortable, and partially because she found herself wanting to see him almost-smile again, Annette found herself hoping the icy return wasn’t her fault.
Whether it was Arthur or Annette that caused the return of the Duke’s icy nature, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she didn’t have enough time to fret over it, because a familiar voice called out for her in the hallway.
“Melanie.” Annette beamed as the tall, slender, middle-aged woman walked into the salon. She sprung up, fumbling around the table to clasp her dear friend's hands in her own. “It’s Annette!”
The Headmistress blinked at her with her large, dark eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“My name!” Annette went on. Then, gesturing to their guests, added, “I met - well I kind of physically collided with Duke Fraldarius earlier - and guess what? He knows me! And my real name: it’s Annette!”
“Real name? You remembered your-” But Melanie’s eyes widened before she could finish her question, her mind seeming to scramble to keep up with Annette’s babbling. “Duke? Here?” When her gaze met Duke Fradlarius’s, Melanie mirrored Annette’s earlier formalities, causing the man to cross his arms and sulk. Clearly, he wasn’t a fan of manners. “Duke Fraldarius, we’re so honored to have you in our school. I…I had no idea you would be joining us. If I-”
“It’s fine,” the Duke said tersely.
Then, to soften his liege’s harsh tone, Arthur added, “You would have no way of knowing, madam. We are most grateful for your hospitality all the same.”
Seemingly appeased, Melanie nodded, though her frown was still pronounced and anxious. “Right,” she said. “Of course.” Then, turning back to Annette added, “So, you remember then?”
“Kind of,” she admitted. “Not…not really. I mean, it sounds right. I can’t really explain it but it feels like my name.”
“And nothing else?” Melanie probed, resting her hands on Annette’s arms. “Just a name?”
“Just a name,” she agreed.
Standing upright, Melanie offered her a shy (if not a little disappointed) smile. “Well, right.” She went on. “I suppose it is something. We should be glad for that.” Looking around the room, Melanie seemed to remember their company and added, “Why don’t I take your cooking shift this afternoon?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Annette said quickly, but Melanie held her hand up to silence her.
“I won’t hear it. Hopefully, this is the start of more memories. And I know you, Fa-Annette,” she said the name carefully, testing it out on her tongue. “You won’t be able to focus and will just set something on fire.”
Letting out a puff of frustration, Annette rolled her eyes and agreed. True, she wasn’t the best cook but she hadn’t set anything on fire. Not in a few months at least.
Had she imagined it or had Duke Fraldarius…smiled at that? She squinted, searching his face for any other traces of humor.
“Your Grace,” Melanie said. “It was lovely to meet you. I’m sure you have much finer accommodations lined up, but should you need a bed we can always make one up.”
“Yeah, uh, thanks,” he mumbled.
Then, to drive the point home, Arthur bowed low from his spot by the door. “It is greatly appreciated, Miss Melanie.”
Happy with the response, Melanie nodded, turning back toward the door and moving to leave. Arthur opened it so quickly that Melanie stumbled to a stop. She blinked at him momentarily, before nodding her thanks and floating back into the hallway. Annette made a note to ask her about the art of recovery. Maybe then she could figure out a way not to screw up every interaction she seemed to be having with Duke Fraldarius.
Annette turned back into her usual, nervous energy when she sat down, making herself busy pouring each of them a second cup of tea even though her stomach was twisted into knots again.
“Miss Melanie,” she explained, as if he had somehow missed that point. “She’s the one that took me in when I got here. One of the students saw me wandering aimlessly around, I guess, and Melanie got me food and a bath and a place to stay.”
“So you…work here?” Duke Fraldarius pointed out. “Cook? Or…”
“I do!” Even she could hear the brightening in her voice. Finally , a subject she was well versed in. She tried to take a breath, to steady herself, but she could still feel the tension seeping back into the room. “Mostly I teach. Fódlan History and Reason. Apparently, I have a real affinity for that.”
“You don’t say.”
It could have been a joke. In fact, Annette thought that maybe it was a joke. But whatever tiny smile he was potentially offering to accompany it was hidden behind his teacup.
Looking back, she wasn’t sure exactly what triggered it - if it was the half-smile she imagined or the brief but breathtaking glance he gave her when he did it. If she were a more rational person she might have assumed it was the heat of the tea mixed with the fact that her entire world had shifted in the span of an hour. Whatever it was made her dizzy, and a searing pain erupted just behind her eyes. Instinct took over - her eyes squeezing closed to will the pain away and her hand jumping up to her forehead.
Through the ringing that seemed to engulf the room, she thought she heard the Duke call out her name, and when she opened her eyes one last time he was reaching for her as the world went black.