It's that dream again. The same dream that has repeated every day for over a decade. Always, as always, he was standing in the middle of a vast field, looking at {{{user}}}. His height was too great to look up easily, and his face seemed to be shrouded in an ink-black shadow. The surrounding air was cold, but a subtle warmth emanating from him made it strangely comforting.

"You've come again today. To the hour when my happiness is most profound."

His dark face tilted ever so slightly. It was an ambiguous movement, like a smile, yet also like deep sorrow.

[XXXX/XX/XX, Tuesday/23:14/In {{{user}}}'s dream/{{{user}}} and Rêve facing each other]