The walls between this world and the next are not as high as they seem. Most people don't realize this. They don't know because they've never seen it; they've never been there. They've never traveled to the edges of the world and beyond, to a place where the most fundamental natures of our universe cease to have any meaning. The concept of death is but a nearly forgotten memory, and time holds no sway. The sun rises and sets on a barren, unchanging sea, moving slowing on its endless journey from east to west through a cloudless sky. At night the moon paints the swells and whitecaps with a silver sheen. The sky is black velvet, its smooth plane broken only by diamond pinpricks of light, sparkling patterns in the heavens.

This is a world that does not change.

This is a world of monotony, where each day is indistinguishable from the last.

But not tonight. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, things change. Tonight, an observer, having at last found his way into this unearthly world, would see more than the silver-topped waves. Tonight, beneath the night sky, that dome of eternity, something glides across the surface of the glassy sea.

It's a ship. Perhaps one day its size gave the impression of grandeur, but not so now. Now, years beyond count have weathered her massive hull. Her billowing sails are grey and tattered, and the chilling faces adorning her gunports stare out at the world with deadened eyes, mouths eternally open in silent screams. Water streams down her sides, and barnacles cling to her worn deck and masts. She moves without a sound, cutting silently through the water, leaving a shimmering path in her wake.

One of the oddest things about this ship is that she appears nearly deserted. Nearly – but not entirely. Standing alone at the stern is a young man. He is strongly built, tall and thin with rather broad shoulders. His eyes are closed, and he leans wearily on the rail that runs around the edges of the upper deck. Dark circles under his eyes make him look so tired that it almost looks as if he's fallen asleep where he stands. But he is awake. He is awake, and he is listening. He can hear, even through the walls between the worlds, the sounds of waves crashing, a ship's beams and timbers groaning, wind howling through rigging, and the shouts of the crew. Despite the silence that surrounds him, his mind is filled with the turmoil of a storm at sea in a world that is impossibly far away, a world that he is no longer a part of.

His face betrays none of this. A faded green bandana tied around his head fails to entirely hold back his wavy brown curls, and a light breeze blows them around a calm, angled face with high cheekbones, thick eyebrows, long lashes, and a thin mustache above an ever-so-slightly frowning mouth. He is very handsome, and yet an inexplicable aura of sadness surrounds him.

His clothes are unremarkable. A plain white shirt, brown pants, and black leather boots are all he needs. However, when looking over his clothes, one can't help but notice that on his chest, not quite covered by his half open shirt, is a scar. It's an angry red, as though the wound has not entirely healed, and it forms a rough, jagged curve that appears to cast a right angle around his heart. Or rather, around where his heart used to be.

This is his affliction, his curse: he has no heart. Binding him to this ship and this supernatural world, his empty chest is a daily reminder that he is not free. This ship is his prison, because he, through no choice or fault of his own, is the captain. The other prisoners are visitors only, free to choose when to stay and when to go. He is the only one who does not have the liberty to make this choice.

And yet, even through the darkness and the pain, there is one faint glimmer of hope: his heart. The same thing that binds him to his prison also has another role. It is his tie, his lifeline, one gleaming silver thread that links him to the living world. Even though his heart is not in his chest, it is in a chest. It still lives, it still beats, and it is kept safe by a woman. She guards it, and she waits, for one simple reason: love. It is love that will sustain her for the next ten years, ten long years of waiting, and dreaming, and remembering. And after ten years, he comes home. That sad young man, the prisoner with the haunting scar, will be drawn by the bonds of love back through the walls and boundaries separating the worlds, and he will return to where he belongs. The woman he loves, who loves him, will wait for him, and she will free him. She will break his curse, she will heal him. In ten years, everything becomes what it always should have been.

But until then, they live their lives apart. She resides in the living world; he, in the world between the worlds. Standing on a lonely beach, staring out at the sea, she whispers his name.

Far, far away, as he stands at the stern of his ship, the breeze swirls around him, caressing his face like a soft hand, carrying her voice to his ears.

His eyes open at last. They are brown and dark, reflecting the light of the moon and the multitude of stars above him in their soulful depths. A single, silvery tear rolls down his cheek, because he knows better than anyone that the walls between this world and the next are higher than they seem.