Illyria is watching the apple tree grow
She has been not quite dead for such a very long

time
To just observe entropy get defeated, even if it is purely a local phenomenon, it is

nice?
It feels right to just sit, and remember the time that there were are and will

be.
She stands up and the small mistletoe that had grown around her body breaks, so fragile

life
She pets absent-minded the dragon on its head

Takes a bite of an apple

bitter
She wonders what Wesley would want to do
now

Maybe, will she ask him?
Time