Chapter Seventeen
I looked out at the Temple of Isis on the Greek island of Delos. This temple was Doric in design. The workers raised fluted columns onto rounded moldings. Under the noonday sun, sweat poured off their brown bodies. A few staggered under the weight of the stone.
I wanted to go down and lend a hand. It would take me much less effort to raise the structure with my Immortal strength. But I couldn’t move. At least, I couldn’t move quickly. That often happened to me when I dreamed. I was often only a viewer and not an active participant. This dream was no different.
Arms came around me. I leaned back into the cradle of his chest, in that space just below his chin and just above his heart that fit my head perfectly for centuries.
“I watched someone die last night,” I said.
