"No, no, I won't allow it. You will see, Johnathon. I will save you. I love you. Can't you see?" The woman stood before John, her eyes fierce and pleading. Who was she? Why did she seem so familiar? And why was this vision haunting me? Where am I?
"You do not love me like she does. What you call love is not love," John replied, blood staining his chest and lips. I struggled to comprehend the scene before me; it felt surreal, yet my heart raced, tears spilling every time I looked at him.
"Do you think she loves you? Where is she? You are alone here, my love. Elenore doesn't love you, but I do. And you will, too," she insisted, her voice a mix of desperation and conviction.
"I do not love you, Alice. I never loved you. Let me die peacefully; I cannot bear to see a traitor in my final moments," John declared, his voice thick with sorrow.
