Snowforest Taiga mangosteen

Medusa shook her head. What was he talking about? Sex, and dreams—the latter she knew about, the former a word thrown and caught and carried away by the wind before her mind could work to interpret it. 

This isn’t love, she said back, this isn’t sex. This is… nameless! She didn’t know it. But he couldn’t be right, it didn’t feel right. Medusa shook her head and said, The dream, the Gods—different, the same. It is for that, it isn’t. And how do you know? she too was frank. Frustrated. He did not know her, why would he help her? How can anyone know? What if you made another dreamer from this? 

She spoke of herself. Not that she would join him, but that maybe this was why he had called—maybe, maybe, maybe. But there was one way to know! 

Once more she asked, help me. For your dream. anchored here, her own breathing came quicker now.