I REMEMBER YOU.
Even from the distance, he knew she was staring right at him, her hair streaming to the side like a ribbon of moonlight, caught in the river breeze. Dorian lifted a hand, the other rising to his neck. No collar. […] No one sounded the alarm. As if the world had stopped paying attention for the few moments they’d looked at each other. And through the darkness of his memories, through the pain and despair and terror he’d tried to forget, a name echoed in his head.
"The wind is a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. / The moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. / The road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, / And the highwayman comes riding— / Riding—riding— / The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door."