[The twilight scenery could either be dusk or dawn, there's no way to tell. A lovely Oriental-looking tea set with several fuming cups appears against the backdrop of orange sky. Different brews, different flavors. The scent fills the air and seems to beckon
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All of that tea gone to waste...
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Tatra's teacup floats by as she gazes sadly at Eriol, recognizing him at once.]
Young Master... You too can feel this pain running so deep...
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Can I find the strength to ever recover from this nightmarish vision? I... do not know... [AND SHE BREAKS INTO TEARS.]
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We have a saying where I come from: don't cry over spilled milk. I think this would apply.
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[And she stares at his gold-stained clothes in horror.]
Did you not burn to death??
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I suppose I was lucky enough to get cooled tea.
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