I came across a palace, long worn to dust and rubble, of an age unknowable and uncounted. No foot had trod its ways for aeons, no hand had stirred its dust, or sought its secrets for as long. And I entered into what was once one of its most venerable of tombs, ancient even when the palace was young, and living.
Within this tomb, I found two things alone: dust, and a bust of an ancient lady, painted in fading colours touched only by time.
And she, who was she that prophesied your face and form, my beloved? What was her name, her rank, or her station? Whom did she love, that was fortunate indeed, and did her beloved love her in turn?
I know not, knowing alone her beauty, even as you are ever beautiful in my sight.