That night Jeanne had a dream, different than any she had ever had before. It was different because she knew she was only dreaming, knew this was a movie reel she could not touch, only watch. That night she dreamt about Jericho.
Jericho stood in the middle of a dim room, legs close together, back stiff, and eyes straight ahead, staring at some point on the wall opposite. She looked past the creature in front of her, who sat at a desk like an eternal auditor, draped in a single white cloth like those Jeanne had seen in a history book of the Mediterranean ancients once. The Auditor was distinctly male, with long blond hair and eyes that were endless, violent white, wrenchingly different than Jericho’s pure black. He officiously scribbled on a piece of parchment on the gilded writing desk mo
