He can't remember his own name, but he can remember her face.

Tangles of dark hair cascade around her shoulders in curls he longs to run his fingers through. Her eyes are dark and green – not emerald green, but rather a grey green like the murky waters of a dam or dirty lake.

He can hear the music that is her voice ringing through his mind, soft and sweet and yet oddly commanding. He can tell she is strong from her voice alone and wants more than anything to remember who she is and what she means to him.

He knows she means something to him. He can feel it with every fibre of his being. It's the one thing he can be certain of. It kills him that he can't be sure if he means anything to her as well.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he tries to recall any other details, anything at all.

His mind blanks.

In all honestly, it doesn't matter if he can remember his life or not. He's going to die here and he knows it.

He only wishes he could see her face once more.

That's what has kept him alive up until this point.