The witch had warned him never to fall asleep in her house. He woke at noon to find her sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken clocks. “What happened?” “You dreamed of me.” He laughed. “Is that forbidden?” “No.” She looked at him with exhausted eyes. “But you dreamed of our wedding. You remembered the name you gave me. And you kissed my forehead exactly where you did three hundred years ago.” His smile faded. She reached for his hand, then stopped an inch short. “I have spent three centuries making you forget me,” she whispered. “I cannot survive watching you remember how you died for me.” He looked at the space between their fingers. “Then tell me what happened.” “I killed the man who murdered you.” “And?” “I became the monster you were trying to save.” He closed the distance between their hands. “Perhaps,” he said, “you should let me decide what I'm willing to save this time.” For the first time in three hundred years, the clocks began to tick.