Something was wrong. Normally Sarah looked forward to falling asleep after a long day, secure and happy underneath her down comforter.

Now, she drove herself right to the edge of sanity by staying up as long as she could, pushing her body to remain active and awake until she felt positively sick to her stomach. She drank so much coffee that her hands shook as she wrote her history notes. She stared into the mirror for hours at a time, scared by the haunted look of her reflection. Why?! Why was sleep such a threat? It wasn’t as if she was a child who believed the boogeyman was waiting under her bed…

When she did sleep it was very light, fitful, and left her more exhausted than before. And so life went on…graduation came and went, but it held little joy for her. The hot, humid summer days weighed down on her as heavy as a wet blanket. She agreed to leave the house only when friends dragged her out by her hair, insisting that she have a good time or they were going to break her kneecaps. So Sarah hid her exhaustion and depression behind a mask of mirth. Feigning a good time was a lot harder than she thought; she was mobbed on all sides by depraved, hungry singles on the prowl. More than one she caught them looking her over, but instead of the thrill most girls her age experienced, she only felt dirty, soiled. Was this how potential lovers met? It was so…uncivilized…

Someone gave her a beer and for lack of anything better to do, she gulped it down. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing at the bitter taste but feeling slightly less troubled. Her friends bought her more, and each one she downed at the same speed, drinking as if it were her last night on the planet. Soon she was intoxicated beyond thought, and let the club scoop her up in its mindless, distasteful embrace. They had to carry her home.

Sleep was blurry around the edges. Her alcohol-fuzzed brain relaxed her mind enough to allow the dream connection her subconscious had been trying so desperately to hide from. It also loosened her inhibitions enough to allow her true feelings to surface. Forget the epic struggle between good and evil, black and white, virtue and seduction. Tonight she was a free agent; she was here to extract revenge for three long years of hormonal torment. She waited for the dream to form.

(meanwhile, somewhere in the Underground)

Weeks had passed without contact. He too had anguished, but in the opposite way of his other half. He spent every moment possible asleep, waiting in a formless void for a sign, for a glimpse, anything. His castle was suffering; his kingdom was suffering; yet still he lazed in bed, listless, waiting. Until tonight…

The void took shape. He looked down. He was wearing fitted black breeches, and a knee-length cream colored tunic that opened to the waist. It was belted at his hips with a thick piece of hand-embroidered silk, and a heavy floor length black brocade jacket completed the ensemble. It was exquisitely detailed and very exotic, lending him the air of an arrogant sheik.

He looked up. He was in what looked like a Sultan’s Palace, complete with flowing drapes, exotic rugs and paintings lavishly displayed, and mosaic tiles dropping color down the walls. Marble columns opened the room to cathedral heights. Peacocks roamed among the guests freely, and doves perched contentedly on stone overlays.

He looked around. He was lounging like a lion on a mound of silk pillows. He was another member of a nameless audience of hundreds, but instead of the chaotic rabble he had joined before, this mass of people was quiet, hushed in anticipation. He could feel the eager anxiety in the minds around him as if it was a tangible thing he could touch, hold in his hand. Centuries of practice allowed him to remain calm, his cold proud exterior showing no sign of emotion. Inside, however, his heart was pounding at the mere thought of her…

A gong sounded, followed by the swell of sitars and flutes and bells. The crowd sighed as one, swaying to the music.

Marble steps led up to a curtained dais , where panels of red silk rustled. A pale hand slid between the gap, wrist twisting gracefully, setting off a folly of thousands of tinkling bells. A smooth leg followed, bare from the thigh down to the ankle, where an anklet of bells rang clearly with every motion. The spectators drew in a breath. The curtain parted.

His heart sped up as she emerged. Bells dangled from bracelets, anklets, and a delicate chain that draped around her bare waist. No wonder the audience was hypnotized. She was a vision of passion and sex in a scarlet halter-top with cap sleeves, gold beading and brocade; a hem at the top of her ribcage and a neckline halfway down her breasts exposed most of her smooth skin. As she moved, the candlelight caused the fabric to shimmer between a deep red and a bright rose. Her skirt was a piece of thick brocade wrapped low on her hips with panels of red and rose silk tucked into the waistband. Her bare leg peeked through a slit open to everyone’s gaze. Her hair, scented and oiled, hung in tousled ringlets that skimmed the small of her back.

Like a hawk, she managed to seek him out in a room filled with appreciative men, and she met his gaze. Sarah grinned seductively in his direction, but lost sight of him in a whirl of red and rose as she spun round and round, a silk veil billowing around her and hiding him from sight. It was her time to be generous, her time to be cruel…

He tensed, fearing she would fall down the steps as she moved precariously close to the edge, but suddenly she stilled. With a deft flick of her wrist, she wrapped the veil around herself, obscuring her body except for her kohl-rimmed eyes; glittering emeralds that pierced through his arrogant masks.

Her heart thrilled as she brought him to a boil. Years of repressed desire were like a cup that runneth over; now her body was in control. The silk clung to her skin, and her eyes dared him to react as she swayed gently to the lilting flutes and drums. She slowly began to unwrap herself from the veil, gracefully walking down the steps as she did so, and by the time she reached the bottom, she had freed herself, and sent the silk spinning about her head. Men were leering, fondling themselves openly but she ignored them. Her mind was utterly focused on the man with the golden hair and mismatched eyes.

Her hips swayed and dipped in time to the drums, and the ornate beading on her top caught the light and reflected it back in a million tiny starbursts. She spun again, and her split diaphanous skirts swirled in a hurricane about her legs. She used the veil as an extension of her body, hiding and revealing, coquettishly framing her hips as she rocked her lower body back and forth. The rushing of blood in her ears drowned the music out. Men in exotic robes reached up to stroke but she always spun out of their reach. To be an object of such desire was to be in a position of power, and the awareness of her newfound strength thrummed in her veins.

She stopped directly in front of him, and smiled at him, a knowing smile that both acknowledged and taunted. She swirled the veil in front of her, and by twisting it over her arms, she brought her hands up and clasped them, so that the light fabric draped around her head, and pulled tightly against her breasts. I dare you to look away. He was as still as a statue; a god carved in stone. She relished the feel of the hot arousal between her legs.

The tempo of the music dropped, and a lone reed flute warbled and trilled. Her hips described rapid circles and figure eights in the air. She slowly brought her arms back down, a triumphant smile on her face, and twisted the veil around herself. With another quick flick, she sent the silk floating into the air again, but this time it wrapped itself around him. He pushed it back from his face in time to see her smirk at him, before her smile turned inwards. Her eyes closed, as if she was imagining his hands replacing the silk that slid down her body.

He could hear the appreciative murmurs of the crowd around him as she slowly undulated her body. Her bare arms snaked out towards him, imploringly, and her hands fluttered through the air like butterflies. She drew them back towards her body, drawing his eyes with them. She rolled her hips in large circles, the sound of bells casting her spell over him. She arched her back as she undulated again, and he watched as a bead of sweat rolled from between her breasts and down her stomach. The air was thick against his skin, and he willed himself to remain motionless as she beckoned again.

Sarah dropped to her knees on the floor before him, smoothing her hands up her bare belly, along the side swell of her breasts and under her hair. She slowly lowered herself back until her head touched the ground, her hair pooling around her on the tiled floor. His eyes traveled along her stomach as she flexed her muscles, rippling a wave along her abdomen. Up her hands came, running over her body, emphasizing her breasts and hips, before she brought herself back up to sitting position.

She snaked her body up and back to her feet in one graceful motion. Moving closer as the music reached a crescendo, she loomed over him, forcing him to tilt his head up. His face revealed no emotion, but when she met his eyes, they burned with an inner fire, glowed with the racing of his heart. Her smile was sensual, cruel.

The Dreamer had finally grown up.