My fear grows in the dark, leaves and shoots unfurling, fruit ripening faster and faster—
No, she says finally.
My heart, nonexistent, beats hard in a chest I don’t have. Relief floods through me?
Am I dreaming?
I remain floating, suspended. I fight for a better grip on myself, a better hold on my mouth, but I’m blind and deaf, amorphous. I want to know myself, find my eyes, but there is a boundary here I cannot cross, a veil beyond my strength to breach.
Rosa, she says, and the blaze of her fear circles me again.You shouldn’t be here.
Why not?I ask.Where am I?
Am I dreaming?
There’s something wrong, she says.Can you remember what happened to you?
I run my fingers along the folds of my mind again, reading the flesh like braille. Flickers of scent and sensation, apple and heat, fear and longing, pain—
Tears.
Touch.
No,I say.
Something is wrong, she says again, her panic loud.Wake up. Wake up before it’s too late. You shouldn’t be here—
Why not?I ask again.Where am I?
I search the dark in vain, growing only blinder even as my speech improves. Sounds are coming to me more quickly, words forming with less effort.
For the third time:Where am I?
She doesn’t answer. Am I dreaming?
Clara, I say.Where are you?
Why are you here?she says sharply, her feelings wild.How did you get here? You shouldn’t be here—
What do you mean?I ask.
Wake up, she says more urgently.Wake up, Rosa. Wake up and never come back here—
Why?A pulse of terror.Clara, please—What’s happening?
Quiet.
Inching quiet.
Then—
You’re in my dreams,she says.
Shock sparks inside me, so strong I nearly go away. Where?
Do you mean I’m dreaming?I ask.Am I a dream?
No response.
