It is night where Ginnem is, and time passes slowly; she sits beneath a flowering cherry tree, watching the light-trails of pyreflies as a dog leaps and plays in the long grass not far distant. The man who sits beside her is silent, his sword resting on his folded knees; he offers that blade only to those willing to pay, but – she is aware of this, distantly, though her mind shies from it – the price she offered is greater than most, and he has promised his sword to her until the dreaming ends.

Could she have her choice, that ending would never come – for the air is clean here, and the moon is bright, and there is nothing to fear from Sin – but when she tells him so, he only shakes his head, smiling beneath the mask, and says, “All dreamers wake, Lady – even you and I.”