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Back Reverie
Chapters (53)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Letter from the Author
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Contents
  6. • One •
  7. • Two •
  8. • Three •
  9. • Four •
  10. • Five •
  11. • Six •
  12. • Seven •
  13. • Eight •
  14. • Nine •
  15. • Ten •
  16. • Eleven •
  17. • Twelve •
  18. • Thirteen •
  19. • Fourteen •
  20. • Fifteen •
  21. • Sixteen •
  22. • Seventeen •
  23. • Eighteen •
  24. • Nineteen •
  25. • Twenty •
  26. • Twenty-One •
  27. • Twenty-Two •
  28. • Twenty-Three •
  29. • Twenty-Four •
  30. • Twenty-Five •
  31. • Twenty-Six •
  32. • Twenty-Seven •
  33. • Twenty-Eight •
  34. • Twenty-Nine •
  35. • Thirty •
  36. • Thirty-One •
  37. • Thirty-Two •
  38. • Thirty-Three •
  39. • Thirty-Four •
  40. • Thirty-Five •
  41. • Thirty-Six •
  42. • Thirty-Seven •
  43. • Thirty-Eight •
  44. • ∞ •
  45. • Thirty-Nine •
  46. • Forty •
  47. Epilogue
  48. Acknowledgments
  49. Excerpt from Be Dazzled
  50. One
  51. Two
  52. About the Author
  53. Back Cover

Kane trudged through the prickling discomfort. He must be getting close. The music was everywhere now, and people dressed in fancy attire drifted through the corridors. They all wore masquerade masks, and Kane was conspicuously out of place. He took his time, knowing it would only take one mistake to give him away, and finally he reached the music’s source: the ballroom.

A crowd of girls served as cover as he snuck in behind them. His fingers wrapping around the black whistle. When the time came, would he know what to do? What would happen to Sophia if he just pulled her from here into Poesy’s sanctuary? Would she blink away her dreamt identity and be herself, or would her eyes go dull and dark, the black doors severing her connection to this place where her mind now lived?

The group of girls paused to discuss something, and Kane slid from their ranks. The ballroom was immense, its edges thickly clotted in shadows. Good. He snuck behind pillars as wide as redwoods and surveyed the masquerade from afar. Hundreds of guests congregated around something at the room’s center, a circular platform floating in the air. A gossamer curtain concealed what lay behind it. The material rippled as the guests plucked at it playfully.

Kane edged around the pillar until he could see the front of the room, where wide steps led up to a throne of twisted iron and filigree. Atop it sat an unlikely figure. Kane’s mind lurched, barely able to hold on to the image of his sister. As though smeared there by an artist’s brush, Sophia was slumped over the throne in a gown of endless, crimson fabric. It pooled at her feet and slid down the stairs, thick like syrup.

Kane’s mind lurched again. There was something among the folds. Gold skin. The dome of a bald head. A badly bent leg. The stump of an arm, now blackened.

Poesy, crushed.

Denial thundered in Kane’s heart. Poesy was dying—or was already dead—which felt impossible given the queen’s former glory. Sophia stared at the body with hollow resignation, a faint frown pulling her painted features down. Her fingers dug up into her hairline as though holding terrible thoughts away from her unblinking eyes.

Kane was already running toward her when the crowd hushed, everyone turning to watch the curtain rise. Sophia stood, her hand still pressed to her head.