I know this one -- I know it well. This one starts as a memory. As it goes on, it will dissolve into something else... part of my mind will sense it, but I do my best to let it play. If I will, or if I fight, it may stir me, and I do not wish to wake.

I did not call her to be here, she is here of her own will. It is the middle of the night, and she is wearing her finest silks. I have seen her in them before, but there have been few occasions... too few. And never this close, not like this.

She is wearing these for me. There is no mistake.

I am in armor. At least, partially. From the waist down. This should be my second skin -- I am a knight, or, at least in my way. In front of her, though, it feels so foreign, so unwelcome. I should know how to wear it, but in front of her, I feel like an entertainer. In a costume. The finest armor, light and tailored especially... and yet it feels like lead, strapped to my legs, anchoring me to the ground in front of her.

I had strayed from the warmth of the fire, drawn to her flame. I bring my hand up to her cheek and it is chilled by the night air, but she flushes under my fingertips. Hher breath halts as I draw near. It does not stop there.

There is bad blood between us, it's true, but I cannot think of what it ever was when she is this close. I even have her mark on my face, but all it does now is direct the corner of my lips upwards.

In reality her hand stole away from mine, and I was too lost in her to snatch it back. But here in my mind, there is no messenger, there is no invisible spot for her to look away or find refuge -- she can only see me, as I have only ever seen her. She cannot meet my eyes, though, which coaxes me to smile, but I do not. I will not give her that yet -- not till I hear her voice speak truth.

"It's about friendship that's all."

We could never be friends, Marian, my love.

I know this isn't about friendship. She wants something, she always wanted something. It is the one thing I understood about her better than anything... for I am the same. You step forward to move forward, and on this ground, I am in her path.

She does not relent, nor does she ever retreat. It is why I can only bask in her now.

I will her to reach for me, for her move.

I can almost taste her. I have kissed these lips before and after this memory, and I would have it again. But my will is too strong. So I must try to relax, to let this dream play. Hoping I will not wake too soon.

This turn, her hand is still in mine, and has never left. Resting there, as though it has found safe harbor. I will not shake this moment, I will not tense. I could not be more elated than just to feel her pulse in my hand again.

Her face begins to fade, and I know I am returning to the darkness. I still savor the feel of her hand in mine, though in reality, my hands are calloused and hard and can only recall so much of the fine detail of her delicate fingers. There is a sensation in my lips, a pressure, and they part for her.

But I feel only a breathe escape and I know I am waking. I am in the dark, my eyes are closed, and I cannot open yet. My hands are not on her, but on my bedclothes and the sound of them tearing under my fingers.

I press my head back against my pillow and the vastness of my chamber -- that I am alone, envelopes me, and presses down on me... I cannot inhale just yet.

I do not open my eyes.

I imagine this weight on me is warm. That I can hold it -- that it would have the lightest scent of rose petals, and be dressed in silk.

But then the cock crows, the servants stir, and my lips are cracked and dry.

I must open them now, my eyes -- and force myself to breathe again.

I am awake now, to another day of no difference.