Her albino hair illuminated my dreams, shining brighter than moonlight.

I had never before met anyone who owned a telephone and believed in dragons.

My ideas were confused. In a peculiar way, the unreality of the outer world appeared to be an extension of my own disturbed state of mind.

As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of the world.

Something in her demanded victimization and terror, so she corrupted my dreams, led me into dark places I had no wish to explore. It was no longer clear to me which of us was the victim. Perhaps we were victims of one another.

She herself did not seem quite real. She was pale and almost transparent, the victim I used for my own enjoyment in dreams.

What I saw had no solidity, it was all made of mist and nylon, with nothing behind.