"The Tower reaches through Time and Space, connecting Above with Below," the Ribbon Man tells me as we go down the endless stair. "There are two ways to reach Heaven, and when one has fallen, you must descend through the Pit and seek passage from the Angel of Chains. Do not forget this when you wake."

I promise not to.

We descend the endless stair forever, and since Time has no meaning here beneath the Ogenic Twilight, we reach the bottom. There is no one waiting for us.

"Oh," the Ribbon Man says finally. "Of course." He puts on the chain and medal, and his ribbons change from black to gold and bronze. "This way," he says to me, his voice now younger. A passage opens for us, and he leads me a long way under the water to a garden of flowers and stones.

A path, lined with yellow flowers leads into the confusion of blooms, and caught in the timelessness of this realm, are a party dressed in fancy clothes. Off to one side are three couples, sitting in six thrones. They, and everyone else assembled, are waiting.

"Waiting for you," the Ribbon Man says. He goes to a tall black plant nearby. At his caress, one of the blooms open, and a squirming glob of text falls out. He has to use both hands to hold, and still phrases ooze between his fingers. "Put this on."

I let him pour it over my head and it slithers all over me. It gets in my nose, a tickling scent of mint and rosemary; it flows into my ears, and I can hear the whispered thoughts of all the assembled guests—their endless chatter as they wait; it fills my eyes, and I can see inside the Kings and Queens upon the thrones; I inhale it into my mouth, and I remember what it was to kiss her.

The party starts when the text drips down to my ankles. The host comes out of stasis, lurching into motion. In a flutter of skirts and coattails, they move aside to reveal the platforms upon which the thrones sit. Long narrow boxes.

The coffins are opened and each of the six royalty descend from their thrones, and divesting themselves of their garb, they climb naked into the boxes. The Kings seem composed of their fate, but the Queens each stare at me as they lay back in the empty coffins. The lids are replaced, and each box is carefully lifted by a pair of men and women. In a stately progression, accompanied by the remaining guests, the coffins being a slow trek along the path of yellow flowers.

I hear something move in one of the coffins as it is raised, and I stop the pallbearers. The lid isn't nailed shut, and I open the box easily. It is filled with shards of glass, and in each piece I see reflections of other dreams. I step away from the coffin, letting the pallbearers lift it to their shoulders, and begin their walk into the garden.

The Ribbon Man coughs behind me, and there is a clunk and rattle of metal. His ribbons change back to black, and he seems confused for a moment. "Not too late," he mutters. "I've not missed the ceremony."

"Which?" I ask.

"The marriage ceremony," he says. "It's your lucky day. Are you ready?"

I watch the last of the coffins disappear around a bend in the path. "No," I say. "I don't think I ever will be."

"No time like the present, then." He laughs. "Or, rather, in this un-time, in this not-present, you are ready."

"All things being equal . . ."

"Absolutely. Everything is, and that's what we are here to celebrate." He puts his hands together, and his fingers disappear into a knot of ribbons. "A consummation."