"Or a dream," she said, not fully knowing the difference between bubble realities and dreams.

She went to her cupboard and pulled out two mismatched cups. One was a lopsided, glazed mug that was purple and spotted. The other was a stout thing that narrowed up at the top, glistening blue, with a handle like an arched eyebrow. Carefully, she pinched together one of her experimental tea combinations, dropping a little in the bottom of each while she waited for the water to boil.

Ariadne hadn't dedicated a lot of time to trying to understand Deerington. Alastrians were built for survival. And there were others there, much smarter than she. Better equipped to try to unwrap the mysteries. She saw it as her responsibility to protect them, in order for everyone to learn.

But she'd never absorbed a lot.

"They said it was the dream of some great being called Cynthia Sodder."