When she wakes her eyes are sealed shut, seemingly with wax, face pressed into the viscous liquid, arm trussed up above her in chains. And she thinks, this is her punishment. Frozen in her death throes, her lungs and limbs burning, the last memory to accompany her into the darkness.

  She wants to throw back her head and breathe, even a mouthful of dust would do, anything to dull the screaming in her chest.

  Blind and bound, her body does not respond.

  Daughter, Mother, broken Queen, how great is your sorrow, the darkness whispers to her. Let it not be said that I am not merciful.

  The gift of the dreaming washes over her, stalling the futile breath.

  Dream now, the voice says, and dream my dream and all the dreams that are to come.

  Her next breath is sharp, and tastes of sweet air, as a city of visions unfolds before her.

  Past her dead lips, the slow liquid oozes, down her throat to fill her belly, coating her insides like a paste of water and ashes.
 

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