Chapter 35
Astolpho dreamed of a storm.
In his heart he knew it was only a dream, not a vision. Dreams always felt different. It meant he could relax and watch and feel however he wanted, because it was an invention of his mind and not something from his god.
The images came to him, black and wet. The trees outside crashed against the temple walls. Rain battered the roof, wind whipped through the open doors. The corridors flooded up through the floor and down through the openings in the ceiling. The gentle trickle of the springs became a gushing torrent. Throughout the temple violent waters swept people off their feet and crashed them against the walls with fatal force.
Inside his chamber the water rose from Astolpho’s legs to his chin, and then over the top of his head. He kept his ey
