“Yes, Madame.” Her voice was hoarse, as if she really had been screaming.
“I ended the dream as delicately as I could. I don’t think the Senior realizes that I terminated the connection, rather than him.”
Shocked, Tempest tried to sit up. Madame pressed her back to the bed.
“Quiet. You shall rest now, and I’ll allow you a few days recovery for your body and mind. You are on holiday for three days.” With that, she was gone in a staccato click of high heels and the crisp sound of her purple dress as she moved.
Tempest lay back, eyes closing. Memories of the dream haunted her, so instead she stared up at the ceiling.
Madame confused her. It was true; the disconnection had been done so subtly that even Tempest had believed the Senior had concluded the dream. The fact that he wished to co
