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“Soon, she is dreaming: I am reading a letter addressed to me by an unknown hand: Dear Kate. The moon rises over the tips of the mountain peaks as we sit here in the darkness thinking of you – and remembering. Remembering the smells of flowers long ago dried and withered away, their faint fragrances hanging in the misty air. Remembering whispers of times gone by. As we have done in the past, we dig deep, looking for clues to your whereabouts. Eyes peek out at us from within the stillness of the night – eyes filled with longing and desire – curious orbs floating like lanterns in the misty void. Looking up from the letter still within her dream, Kate finds herself face to face with two golden beacons of love-filled radiance.” — Kathy Martone