“How can it not be real when dreams are the truest thing we have?” My voice is a whisper against her skin, caressing the juncture of her throat. I stare at the spot, imagining stroking it with my fingertips. Tearing at it with my teeth. Destroying her delicate neck the same way I’ve been destroyed. “They are stripped of every lie we tell ourselves and every lie the world tells us. There is nothing more ardent in this life or the next than our imaginings.”