Even

 As the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, casting an ethereal glow across the vast, open plain, a lone figure stood atop a weathered hill, their back turned to the rising sun. The figure's form was shrouded by the billowing folds of a flowing black cloak, their hands clasped tightly behind their back as they stared intently at something in the distance. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the faint scent of wildflowers and the distant roar of a nearby waterfall. The hills and valleys that surrounded them were dotted with towering trees, their leaves rustling gently in the morning breeze, their branches swaying like dancers in some ancient, forgotten ritual.

The figure's gaze was fixed on a small village nestled at the foot of a nearby mountain, its stone buildings huddled together like sheep seeking shelter from an impending storm. Smoke rose lazily from the chimneys, carrying with it the aroma of breakfast cooking and the laughter of children at play. Even from this distance, the figure could make out the intricate tapestry of life that wove its way through the village, threadbare in places but still vibrant and full of promise.

As the figure stood there, lost in thought, they were suddenly aware of a presence beside them. They turned to find a young girl, no more than eight summers old, dressed in a worn but clean dress, her long, golden hair flowing freely about her shoulders. The girl's big, expressive eyes were fixed on the village below, a wistful look in them. "Hello," she said softly. "My name is Lily."

The figure, for a moment, was taken aback by the girl's unexpected appearance. She hesitated, then extended a hand from beneath her cloak. "And I am..." she began, but trailed off, unsure of what name to give. For in truth, she had forgotten who she was, where she came from, and why she had been drawn to this place. All she knew was that something about this village, about this girl named Lily, felt... familiar.