The flesh of the peach was so ripe it melted on her tongue. As she slid down the tree, the bark felt soft and worn on her back, the grass around the trunk a vital, living green. Her vision blurred. Where there should have been branches and leaves, she saw a golden chadelier hung with crystals that flickered in the light of the candles, the wax drippings frozen in pastel streams.
She could hear his voice as the dancers materialized, swirling before her, seducing her, the king calling her into dreams, into forever...