POV: Aphrodite
She dreams. And this time, he answers.
The dreamspace is not the prison and not the court and not any of the physical spaces I've been moving through since we crossed the territory boundary. It has the quality of the between — not the between-space in the way I've been understanding it from Eros's subtle interventions, but the space that sits at the edge of both the physical and divine worlds, where the boundary between them thins enough that communication becomes possible in both directions.
I'm standing in it.
The ground beneath my feet has no texture I can name — not stone, not earth, not the cracked floor of the King's court or the ruins' overgrown stone. Just surface, carrying weight without making itself specific about what kind of weight it carries. The light around me is not the ley-line light or the court's sourceless illumination or the honest quality of morning in the King's territory after partial breaking.
It's gold.
