Casca dreams in black and red. A thousand eyes stare at her. A thousand mouths gape at her. A thousand limbs hold her up before a sky of red faces.
A thousand men scream, beg, and weep. One thing that is not a man kisses her, but its lips are hard and cold.
Casca screams when she wakes up. The blonde woman is holding her now, stroking her hair, murmuring in a language she once understood.
By the time her heart stopped throbbing in her throat, Casca does not remember the dream at all.