As Princess Amaya slowly opened her eyes, disappointment washed over her. She had dreamt of Marx—the man she loved—and it had felt so real. But now, as she looked around her empty room, she knew that it had just been a figment of her imagination.
In her dream, Marx had come to her bedside and stood silently, watching over her. Then, he leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and her lips. It felt so tender, loving, and real. But now, as she lay there alone, she knew it was just a dream.
Amaya sat from the bed. Her heart was filled with longing. It has been two years. 'Marx, where are you? Are you really gone forever, just like my Daddy Ibrahim? But why do I feel that you are alive? But if you are, why did you not look for me? Why did you disappear?'
