"That voice! There's that voice again!"

As if by an act of his own will, he forces himself awake, sitting bolt upright and tossing the covers aside.

Blinking to clear sleep from his eyes, dream vision persists, engulfing his senses. She glides past, a scent of blossoms following in her wake. As she turns to leave, the vision starts to fade...he bolts to the easel across the room, hastily capturing this moment on canvas - his hands moving of their own accord, a blur. Lush foliage, vibrant robes, pale skin...

The vision fades completely, then that voice reaches out to him from the void, "It's time."

His own will?

No, this is hers, as the reply escapes from his lips, barely a whisper, "Yes, my Muse."