Tatra shook her head somberly and turned back to her sister. Even close enough to read her lips, her mind couldn't register what Tarta might be saying to her. It was like being trapped inside a doll house, where you were allowed to look but not touch. She was barely more a part of the dream itself than he was; merely an observer of the twisted little fantasy world.

"I miss her," she said, as much to herself as to the stranger, as though she were merely thinking out loud. Which, essentially, she was.