It's happening again.
Dream-walking, they called it.
I do not know where I am, but my feet move, seeming to know where to go. The marble is cold under my bare feet and a silken robe a silken robe slides like water against my skin.
The walls around me are familiar, though, I know I've never been here before. I know who waits beyond the black oaken doors. My hand pushes them open, though my body moves without my will, every step drawn out, languid, sultry.
He lifts his head from the scrolls scattered across the table, a slow smile curving his lips as violet-tinged eyes rake over me.
It is then I notice that I am not in my body, either. This body is taller, fuller, dressed in little more than straps meant to reveal, not conceal. My nipples harden in the cool air; my breasts swell, gleaming with scented oils that perfume my skin.
