Dream days - dream nights. The moon in the dark runs red with blood. The sun a swollen eye that hangs in the heavens, unlovely and malevolent.
The stone wild in my blood. Through the seamless day-nights - three wakings for others - but for me one night. Burning and storm tossed, lying in my own sweat for all that my Poppinjay cools and soothes. I feel his hands, cold, descend upon me - a moment - before the black-blooded waters sweep me away once more. Blood comes again, and falls like rain, and flowers at my feet.
