Seaside Moors cause taking you to another landscape is my mandate.

die sonne heeded her, drawing close. she felt something against her feet. 

swaths of clover sprouted around her feet. phaedra looked down and sprawled her toes through the trefoil, squeezing her eyes shut, willing this dreich groundcover be flushed with the filigrees of dawn. 

once she opened her eyes, her will be done, a tenebrous figure stood in the foreground, expression umbraged by her dream-mired gaze.

another tartarean spectre sent to mutter terrible malisons against her, grasp at the ruching of her soul, necrotize her waking mind. fear started gathering in her stomach, the clover under her feet dislimned from their aurous floruit ... but then,

"no." she breathed, mastering her fear of whatever entity she'd made manfiest as she stepped forth, the decayed florets underfoot seemingly shying from her. "you are dreaming" she reminded herself in the privacy of her mind, "clarify!" she demanded. cosmic wisps immediately illuminated around her, lit her point of compass, 

and she braved to look up from the ground to behold whatever monster came to consume her, 

there he stood, coalesced into shadow and perfectly still.

(souls in prosody; the sun shines not better on any than these twain shine, intersecting in a chance moment)

"thade?" the echoing whisper depart—

(but she got it all wrong)