It had barely taken Remy a day or so to find Irene Crawley. In a hospital of all places, in a coma. Still, it had been a rather lucky find that had been aided by one of his drawings of her. One of the hospital staff had recognized her and directed him here.
He had been sitting with her, holding her hand. He eventually fell asleep like that, his hand still in hers. At first, things were hazy and then he was somewhere that felt, smelled and looked like a memory. The ocean scent and laughter on his own lips. He remembered doing this - no, he was currently doing this? Either way, Irene was now a soaked, indignant dryad.
"Life and the art of swimming can only be experienced by just jumping on in," he teased.
He had been sitting with her, holding her hand. He eventually fell asleep like that, his hand still in hers. At first, things were hazy and then he was somewhere that felt, smelled and looked like a memory. The ocean scent and laughter on his own lips. He remembered doing this - no, he was currently doing this? Either way, Irene was now a soaked, indignant dryad.
"Life and the art of swimming can only be experienced by just jumping on in," he teased.
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