Proto stared at the Lord of Dreams, hovering in a mirk of whirling stars. His words echoed in Proto’s head: “Now, there’s something I have to tell you! I hope you’re listening, because this is awfully important.”

  “There’s something I have to tell you about Lilac.” Zeal gleamed in Somnus’ eyes. “I told you I never break up true love. You could be a way out of here for Lilac. She could leave together with you. And she’s known that from the moment she poured your first drink. Everything I said was true. Technically.”

  “But . . . there is one thing I neglected to mention,” winced Somnus apologetically. “Lilac doesn’t want to leave this place. Never has, probably never will. She loves her job! She loves my Palace! Life here is all she ever wanted. Well, almost.” He smiled. “So, yes, I hope you like this place, Proto.”

  “I may have given you the impression she was just using you to get out of here. Probably misleading of me,” observed Somnus. “But what am I saying? You didn’t really think Lilac, the Lilac you knew, would do something like that, right? I mean, really: That black mug? The crack she mended? Holding it against her heart? That Lilac? If just a few words from me made you lose faith in her—well, I’ll tell you what, that’s not true love.”

  Proto might not have lost faith, but he still felt abashed. “Yours to break and mine to mend. . . . But try not to break it too badly.” How could he have doubted her even briefly?

  “Pardon me for putting you to the test, but I had to be sure,” Somnus went on pleasantly. “I care a lot about Lilac—about everyone here, but especially Lilac. She’s like a daughter to me. And, before I invited you here for an eternity, I wanted to make sure things would work out. I feel good about it now!”

  “Of course, I had a good feeling from the outset. Remember when I predicted what drink would be a match for you? My prediction was—well, ask her!” Somnus smiled. “Why do you think she’s the one I shared my prediction with?”

  Proto stared at the dusky-haired, long-robed eccentric and, not for the first time, wondered what must pass through his head.

  “But before we get to that, let’s spruce this place up a bit, shall we?” The Lord of Dreams waved his wand, and the red-veined mists began dwindling.

  Out of the mirk emerged a scene from nature. Cliffs rose tall on their left and right. To their fore stood a single tree—a sakura, pink petals fluttering in the faint breeze. A few were always falling.

  A path wound down beside the cliff toward a sandy shore, where waves were lapping. In the distance, mists drifted over the waters.

  Proto found himself ambling a few steps toward the water with a faint smile. This, he recalled well. “Just like the original.”

  “Is it though?” questioned Somnus from behind him.

  Proto turned to look—and his eyes widened at what he saw there.

  What he recalled was a cave, which he and Lilac had emerged from on their first odyssey together.

  What he saw, instead, was a spacious open-air grotto. It had two wardrobes, two nightstands, two cat-shaped lamps—and one very well-stocked bar.

  And a big bed, of course. The quilt was a swirl of black and white, like coffee when you first pour in the cream.

  A tingling warmth in Proto’s breast thrilled through him.

  “Ahh.” Somnus grinned at their surroundings, basking in the sea breeze. “Makes me wish I could stay here and get some sun! In fact.”

  The Lord of Dreams abruptly lifted his robe and pulled it off.

  Proto blinked and stepped backward, arms raised before his face protectively, like someone had tilted a spotlight at him.

  Through this vain self-defense, he could see Somnus—every bit as pale as Lilac—was wearing swim trunks.

  “I think I’ll swim home!” declared the Lord of Dreams, facing the sea with his hands on his hips. “Mind bringing my robe back to the lounge, whenever you’re done here? Door’s back there.” He thumbed toward the grotto behind him. “But no rush. Definitely no rush!”

  “I . . . suppose so,” replied Proto, still blinking out sunny afterimages of Somnus. “I guess I owe you that.”

  “You guess! Well, that’s good. Enjoy your paradise.” Somnus strolled down to the beach. “Alright, Visitor Proto. You two have fun!”

  Then, he dove in.

  “Wait! What about—?” began Proto, as Somnus disappeared among the waves and mists.

  He was interrupted by a gasp behind him. He spun—and there was Lilac, blinking at the sun’s glare, her pallor shining with it.

  For a moment, she looked disconcerted. Then, she spun to Proto, and her eyes widened.

  “Proto!” she half-cried, half-whispered. “Somnus didn’t tell you everything. He—”

  “He did.” Proto clasped her hands. “He did.”

  Lilac blinked twice at him, her curved black eyes uncertain and reflecting him back whole. “So you know now. How I want to stay . . . ” A tear slid down her cheek. “He should’ve told you before. You can take it back. You can still leave today.”

  “Take it back?” He smiled and, turning, tugged her by the hand. After an instant’s hesitation, she let herself be led to the sakura tree.

  The wind blew a cloud of petals from its boughs. He deftly caught a handful and, one by one, he placed them in Lilac’s hair, pinkening the flowing blackness.

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  “Proto?” She tilted her head and blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

  But he kept placing the petals, right down to the last one. He nodded in satisfaction.

  “Are you done?” she chided with tender exasperation.

  “Done? No. Not as long as flowers bloom, and you and I are here,” he replied.

  She touched her hair. “ . . . that long?”

  “That long.” He clasped her hand, and they saw eye to eye. “But . . . maybe we can take a break now.” He eyed the cerulean waters.

  “Agreed!” She squeezed his hands, her black gaze shimmering. “Come!” She pulled him along the path toward the beach. Her black hair billowed inches from his face. Its sunny glimmers beckoned him along.

  He halted at the shore, while she waded knee-deep into the water. Hiking up her yukata and holding it with one hand, she dipped the other into the waves. Eventually, she grasped and lifted a corked green bottle. She tossed it backward onto the dry sand.

  Then, she reached into the water again.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “What I do best!” she answered, reaching for another bottle.

  Holding her yukata up while leaning down was awkward, with the waves’ continual ebb and swell. She often had to go tippie-toe to keep her clothes dry. At one point, she gasped and stepped backward as some spume sprayed over her waist and soaked through the fabric.

  “You know,” he mused. “It is just us here. If the outfit’s in the way—I mean, what’s the difference, really, between a two-piece swimsuit and—”

  “Don’t rush this, Proto!” she chastised sweetly.

  “Okay! Okay.” His lips curved up.

  After she’d gathered a minibar’s worth of bottles, she bundled them in her arms—then paused. “Oh. I don’t have any cups, do I?”

  “Sure we do. Back at the bar.” Proto pointed up the sandy hill.

  “The bar? Back in the lounge?” She blinked twice in dismay.

  He laughed, then decided to go with it. “What, were you planning to make drinks in the sand?”

  She looked so sad her bottom lip was out.

  Proto laughed again. “Come!” He led her up the path, and she followed wistfully.

  Her eyes went wide upon beholding the grotto-bedroom—which, till now, she hadn’t seen—rather than the dismal cave she’d expected. She took it all in, gaze settling on the well-stocked bar.

  Then, she turned to face him chidingly with hands on hips. “I see.”

  He chortled.

  “I suppose you forgot to tell me you’d freshened the place up!” she admonished.

  “I can’t take all the credit,” he replied. “Or, really, any.”

  “This is downright home-like though!” she marveled, wandering into the shady grotto. “A forever home.”

  “Literally,” mused Proto.

  “Hm!” She brushed back one of the two black tresses casting shadows on her face. “I feel like I’ve just woken from reality into a dream.”

  “It’s getting hard to tell the difference,” observed Proto.

  “True!” She gazed upon the Sea of Dreams—then blinked. “Oh, right!” She gathered up the bottles again and set them on the bar.

  Then, she promptly started mixing.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you make this drink,” noted Proto, as she poured the cocktail into two glasses. They seemed to have a faintly pink tinge. But maybe that was just the sakura blossoms she’d garnished them with.

  “Oh, it’s something I dreamt up a long time ago.” She handed him a glass. “I’m just glad I finally got to make it.”

  “Mm.” He started lifting it to his lips—then paused. “What happens if I drink it?”

  “Oh, you’ll grow fairy wings, and flowers will blossom beneath your feet,” she answered.

  “Ah, well, as long as we’re in this together,” said Proto.

  With black eyes sparkling, she raised her glass to him. Clink. And they both drank.

  “Hm,” mused Lilac as he swallowed, “what if the River Anima is like the River Lethe and only affects you, not me?”

  Proto’s eyes widened. “You . . . were being serious . . . ?” A hand rose toward his throat.

  “Too late! Once you drink, you’re flappy and pink!” she cried.

  He hacked a cough out.

  “Just kidding!” she laughed. “I want a Man Proto, not a Fairy Proto.”

  Even in the midst of his now-receding terror, he couldn’t help admiring the cocktail’s tasteful perfection. Those light notes of flower and sea and springtime. He smiled, his gaze drifting from the grotto’s shadow toward the seaward sun.

  “So . . . ?” Lilac looked hopefully at him, then the drink, then him.

  Proto pondered her creation for a moment.

  Then, he leaned in toward the pale woman, clasping her light-robed arms—as, faintly, she drew breath, her curved black eyes going wide—and kissed her.

  She blinked up at him twice, her sealed lips touching his.

  Then, like a snowflake in hand, she melted into the moment.

  Her eyes shut. Her lips parted. And in that kiss was all of Lilac—light and subtle, dark and bright.

  Of that, she had enough for only one. But for Proto, there was enough and more. It was unending.

  Breathless, she withdrew, looking up at him. “Well! That’s one way of telling me what you think.”

  “It was . . . hard to find the right words.” Proto felt rather loopy himself.

  “I think you put it right exactly,” she breathed. “But . . . you’re welcome to try again.”

  “Hm.” He looked at the cocktail. “Yes. Here’s what I think.” He lifted the cup, admiring its contents.

  Then, he tossed the whole thing back.

  “Proto! That’s not what I meant!” gasped Lilac. “What are you doing?”

  “What I do best!” declared the Visitor.

  “What, be a flamboyant lush? You’re Proto, not Somnus!” she rebuked.

  “Lilac, Lilac, give me my rye back!” He held his glass out toward the cocktail shaker.

  “There’s no rye in there, you dipsomaniac playboy!” she scolded. “But . . . there is enough for seconds.” She poured another serving. “Suppose I’d best start making thirds, Proto-Somnus!”

  “Call me Minor Underlord of Dreams!” He sipped his cocktail.

  “As you command, Minor Underlord!” she said. “You can call me Lilac.”

  “Lilac!” he repeated. “Is that all, Madame Bartendress Lilac?”

  “Mm. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as when you said Lilac earlier.” She looked fondly afar. “At least, not until ten minutes later.” She blushed, pursing her lips.

  “Hm,” replied Proto carefully. “Do . . . you think we can set three records in one day?”

  She studied his face.

  Proto double-gunned her hopefully.

  “Don’t rush this, Proto!” she chastised sweetly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He innocently sipped his cocktail.

  “Mm-hmm!”

  “This drink.” Proto tapped it. “It’s the one Somnus predicted, isn’t it?”

  “Somehow, yes,” she replied. “Even though you’re the first to taste it, besides me. . . . And you’ll be the only one.”

  He looked at her, lips quirking up.

  Her ears flushed faintly. “What! You wouldn’t share, like, a love letter you wrote.”

  “A love letter!” He tapped the glass again.

  She flushed more. “What! Don’t laugh at my romanticizing!”

  Proto laughed and squeezed her hand. “Anyway, it seems like Somnus always wins his bets.”

  “Yes, he and Lady Luck have a thing,” affirmed Lilac.

  “Oh? He is always talking about her, isn’t he,” said Proto.

  “Isn’t he! Long story, those two.” She poured herself another cocktail. “But I guess we have all the time in the world, huh?” She strolled out from behind the bar.

  “Literally,” mused Proto, sipping his drink. Not a bad thought at all.

  Smiling absently, he scanned the bar. His eyes fixed upon a black ceramic object with two white-lacquered cracks. “Oh, look. It’s my Lilac-style coffee mug.”

  “Good! You’re going to need it by tomorrow morning,” noted the bartendress from behind him.

  “Oh? How many rounds are we doing here?” asked Proto, eying his third cocktail—then, blinked and turned.

  For Lilac had placed a slender hand upon his shoulder, her black eyes sparkling up at him. “As many as you’d like.” Her yukata’s belt was untied and hanging loose, and its shoulders were slipping downward. “As many as you’d like.”

  Hair, face and eyes—black and white and sparkling bright. His gaze fell over her like a falling star, yearning downward in a heavenly burning, fulfilling wishes on its way. Hair, face and eyes, and more.

  Slipping an arm around her waist, where her blue-and-yellow primrose belt had been, he led her to the bed.

  And at their backs, the Sea of Dreams swelled and sounded, misted and swirled, borne by the warm breeze from form to form, as it always had and always would, as changeless as the changing seasons.