Mary touches my hand and I’m gone. Sleep robs me from the world. The dream embraces me, warms me. I feel some measure of peace. I know it’s a lie. Obvious, really. But I enjoy the lie more than the sweetest wine. Mary’s dressed like a bird, all feathers and color. Behind her are the real birds. They stay in their tree and ridicule me from a distance, laughing at how much I need this. I’m like a drunk with his hands on the bottle that’s likely to kill him, but I don’t care. The birds laugh and screech, cheering me on so that I may go deeper, drink fully, and disappear. My lady love says, “Wake up,” but I don’t want to. I want to stay here with her forever. She touches my face. My body tingles. She gently presses against my back with her third hand. Three… hands? The claws sink into my skin and I jolt awake. The Rakasa withdraws its paw down the mound’s central hole. It hisses at me and I can hear it go down deeper into the dark. My back’s wet and warm. It cut me deep, I fear.
