Wine Is Bottled Poetry, He Thinks.

I Don't Think There's Anything Wrong Being A Dreamer.

And Then He Tells Her Stories. Myths He Learned From His Instructor. Fantasies He Created Himself, Inspired By Bits And Pieces Of Others Read In Archaic Books With Crackling Spines.

It's Not A Real Name," She Says. "not One That He's Carried With Him Always. It's One He Wears Like His Hat. So He Can Take It Off If He Wants.

Better To Have A Single Perfect Diamond Than A Sack Of Flawed Stones.

Celia Laughs And A Curl Of Her Hair Falls Across Her Cheek. Marco Tentatively Moves To Brush It Off Her Face, But Before His Fingers Reach Her, She Pushes Herself Off The Ledge, Her Silver Gown A Billowing Cloud As She Falls Onto The Pile Of Jewel-toned Cushions.