Dream sat and brooded on a throne of gold and straw. His tales had fled from his shoulders, departing to be whispered into someone's ear, but never understood. That's the curse of dreams, if anyone was wondering. Prophets know the pain but no one ever talks about it. That's another one. Curses are common as colds among the far-seers and visions seen. One and alike those ones. Makes gatherings more than a little confusing.

Dream sitting and brooding wasn't all that uncommon in the palace of the dull. A drab place it was, one that seemed to appear only when it's master sat and brooded. Next door the chicken laid small copies of itself, and eggs rolled down the hill to crack at the feet of impotent horses. The world is a sick place.

Actually he wasn't alone, an oversight in narration I shall strive to avoid making in the future. At his side was the lady Amalt. She was a popular sight, although no one could quite understand what it was they saw in her. She was a woman of glass, and they were all full of the same stuff. What do you see when you reflect the transparent? It was for the most part interesting, or so I would assume, given that they loved to look at her.

If it bothered her, she gave no hint of it. She was a cool one, the lady Amalt. Lady in all but flesh, by the by, rumor was it that she had slain Dream's former wife and taken her place as his bride. This wasn't true. She had a thing for brooders, but she wasn't a murderer. Dream's wife had turned into a sparrow when she realized that her husband never slept. The scent of hypocrisy hung in clouds around him, and she didn't know she was choking until she flew away. She's happier now, but that's not really important. She isn't as fascinating as the lady. The lady took her place, that much is true, but Dream has never seen her. What could he see? Her skin of mirrors offers him only his surroundings. He casts no shadow nor reflection - they require too much self.

That's the problem being the lord of something so ephemeral, you tend to get along with it too well. Get to like not being quite all there. Once that happens you lose something of an ego, and gain something of a pride. It's a fine point but ask Dream and it gapes like a chasm. One that he fell into. It makes shaving hard.

Got you there didn't I? Not only a shocking change in style, but also the revelation that dreams and even Dream have to shave. Actually, they don't. So much for shock value.