Croi sighs a little and sprawls on the ground among the flowers in front of the dwelling. As she has done many times before, she will sleep outside, collecting stardust in the shadows cast by her body.

The snores of the flower sprites soothe her, and Croi closes her eyes, conceding to the demands of the darkness. When she opens her eyes again, it is in a sunny clearing in a forest. A long, wide table stands in front of her, groaning under the weight of numerous dishes, like scones with dollops of cream on them and steam as evidence of their freshness. Chicken, roasted, fried, and stewed; potatoes, crispy and baked; bread, savory and sweet; and so much more. All these things are Croi’s favorites. She steps toward the table, her eyes wide and her mouth full of water.

She knows very well she is dreaming because such bounty will only occur in her dreams. She won’t complain, however. At least her subconscious gets to feast.

“You must be very hungry,” a voice says just as she is about to reach for a chicken leg.

THREE

TOWERING ABOVE HER IS A boy, fae from the pointed shape of his ears. Because this is a dream, his edges are blurred, but the rest of him is clearly visible. His nose is straight and thin, and his forehead is narrow and elegant. Croi is momentarily fascinated by the shape of his lips. They are full and look firm. She wonders what they would feel like if she kisses him. Bewildered by her thoughts, she shakes herself. Is this fae boy casting some sort of enchantment on her? Maybe his lips are magick.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my dream?” Croi takes a step back. She looks at the full table and turns to the boy suspiciously. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to share my food with you.”

“It’s just dream food,” the boy points out with a grin. He has dimples and a really nice voice. But these two things are not enough for her to forgive his trespass.

“It’s my dream food. If you want to eat, you should dream up your own food. It is very rude to go uninvited into other people’s dreams, you know.” Croi crosses her arms and tries to look stern. It is a difficult prospect since she is only as tall as the boy’s thigh.

“I do apologize for invading your dream. I most certainly don’t plan to steal your food,” the boy says, bowing formally.

“I will think about accepting your apology.” The trouble with tall people, Croi decides, is that talking to them is painful. She addresses her words to the boy’s belly. If she can’t see his face, she won’t be tempted by him.

“My name is Irial,” the boy says after a short hesitation.

“Hello, Irial. Why are you in my dream?” Croi asks. Then, because she can’t help it, she picks up a meat bun and takes a bite. For dream food, it is delicious.