Sleeping beauty.

I have never met him, barely spoken to him. Yet I am most intrigued. He's the Prince in the alternative Sleeping beauty. The end of this tale is left unfinished, open. Especially for him.
She continues sleeping, sleeping, sleeping. If her mind is imprisoned in an unresponsive body or she is blissfully unconscious to all and everything, one can never know. For all she does is sleep.
Every new day is identical to the last. Her favourite music plays in the background. The scent of her favourite flowers fill the room. She lies numb to his tender stroking. He talks casually about his day, as husbands do to their wives. The curtain flutters lightly in the breeze, sneaking in a ray of sunlight on her face. She twitches. He beams! She's happy! She's here! Little signs, big messages.

When he can tear himself away, he's trotting the globe, this Prince. On the determined search for something that will wake her up. He's going to bring her back. There has never been any doubt.
In respectful disagreement of every bit of medical proof and advice to the contrary, he keeps on looking. His search widens as do the months prolong.

There are only one of two possible endings.
One day she may awake. And he would have found it.
Maybe she won't. And he'd keep on looking.